Strangers
by oneiromancer242
Summary: Erik isn't usually the first to figure things out - but just for once, when a boy comes to rescue him from the Pentagon, he gets there first. Slight AU from a reader prompt, plenty of Dadneto and Teen!Peter.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N : From a reader prompt in which Erik figures out who our favourite speedster is before Peter himself does. A welcome return to Dadneto after the absolute git he was in 'Silver-Grey'!**

 **1.**

The monotony isn't so bad really. It certainly makes a change from chaos and noise and the buzz of foreign tongues and the crack of broken bones. The silence, too, is sometimes a blessing, but only sometimes. At times it gives him space to marshal his thoughts, to meditate upon the evils of the world and to consider a possible solution to them. To think of the world he could create were he only given time and a handful of metal to do so. At other times, silence creates a void into which memories flood, and without distraction he cannot push them away. Buckled iron gates, the man who smiled as he shot his mother, the invasive wrench of a telepath whose power equalled his own yanking at his mind. Begging voices, helpless tears, and above it all the stench of burning human flesh from vast ovens, rendering his kind to anonymous ashes and fragments of bone.

The smell of frying meat will always remind him of those days the furnaces would be lit. A greasy, hanging smell that got into clothes and hair so that when at last he lay down to sleep he would gag at the odour of rendered flesh on his ragged coverings. The smell makes him think of sifting crumbling red-brown chunks into a fine powder, searching through for gold teeth which their murderers had missed.

That smell was in the air on the November day which led him here. Drifting from VW vans with the sides popped out to hand hotdogs and burgers to the assembled crowds, seeping from the broiler ovens of carts that lined the packed street. He has seen history made before, and always it is accompanied by throngs of humans flocking to be part of it. That day, however, the sweaty press of bodies also contained many of his own kind, all of them eager to see the man who could save them.

Kennedy isn't open about his Mutant status, but Erik knows his own. So many of them know that he is a hero to a mass of unchampioned silent voters who know, just know, that if he remains in the White House he can change their world for the better. Work to end the discrimination, educate humanity, finally bring some light into the dark worlds they hide in. They don't know his gift, though many suspect it to be charisma, but they know what he is. They have come here to see him because they want to be in the presence of someone who could save their world. Erik has long ceased the believe in saviours, but he has come anyway, because his admiration will not let him keep away. Because he understands that if he knows, if many know, then someone with less pure intentions than to simply be part of this great event will know as well. He is here because, as always, he does not trust humanity not to cause trouble.

When he hears a shot, he knows he was right. Standing in the shade of a single oak that grows beside an old unpainted wooden fence, out of place in this bright and festive plaza, he knows he must act, but the wounded man is too far away. He feels for the copper and lead in the little projectile, but the panic rising in his throat makes his control shaky, and he succeeds only in pulling it off course, driving it out of the victim's neck and through the chest of the man in front. In terror he pulls again. Even from this vantage point, he sees pink-red-yellow-grey splash across the interior windows of the limousine. He knows that colour. In a moment he is watching as a soldier beats a prisoner's head in with the butt of a rifle, and then he is back here in Dealey Plaza on an unseasonably warm November afternoon, and Kennedy's blood and brains are running down the windshield of the car. Everybody is screaming. He has failed.

In his ten years beneath this glass and concrete prison, he does not know about the numerous theories which have sprung up. He knows nothing of Magic Bullets, or that where he had been stood when he had desperately tried to save the life of the man who could save them all was now called the Grassy Knoll, capitalised and immortalised in American history forever as the place where the country's greatest traitor may have stood. He knows nothing but weak electric light and white and silence and the faint hum of an air-conditioning unit. Knows no more than this for a decade, until one day his lunch tray had come with a note.

 _Mind the glass!_

Childish handwriting, he thinks, with loops and curlicues that seem designed to add a touch of class to the scrawl. Looks up at the toughened glass ceiling above him and sees the first friendly face that he has set eyes on in ten years.

It is a youthful, pale face that looks ridiculous in the peaked cap he wears – not a new guard, Erik knows instantly. He is far too young, and even from here he can see that there is a tucked-up loop of long hair escaping from under the cap. All his guards are Marines – crew-cut and experienced, not dimpled youths with sparkling eyes full of mischief. Rising from his narrow cot, staring up at the window in his silent white world, watching as the boy up there carefully places both palms against the glass ceiling. What does he think he's doing? It's toughened glass, for goodness sakes! Even if he's super-strong, and by the strangeness of his white skin and silver hair and that indefinable something that gives them away, Erik can see the boy is a Mutant, he'll never push through it. He watches what he assumes to be an exercise in futility, confused, until he realises that the glass is shaking. A few moments more, and he forgets to mind the glass.

A hell of an introduction, Erik thought as he covered his eyes from the fragments.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N : HELLO THERE! I'm alive and writing, just madly busy as I'm covering three hospitals at the moment and feeling like superspeed to get between them would be terribly useful. Yes, this chapter is very much following the scene in DoFP, but from here on the plot will diverge a little :-) Thanks you for keeping reviews and follows coming even in my absence, enjoy!**

 **2.**

2

Up close, the kid is even younger than he'd thought. Maybe fifteen years old, slight and twitchy and with dark familiar eyes that are alive with something that approaches insanity in its intensity. The guard's uniform doesn't fit him too well, he's tucked and cinched it in to the best of his abilities but he's no Marine, and even now Erik can see that the pants are slipping onto his wiry hips and bagging around the ankles, as if everything in his being is resisting looking smart. Calm and pragmatic as he clambers up out of his pit, looks toward the doors at the end of the room, hears the rising blare of sirens

"In two seconds, those doors are going to open" he said quietly, glanced over at the kid. The hat is gone now, and as he had suspected his hair is long underneath, "and twenty guards will be here to shoot us"

Erik swears he had been standing against the far wall, but in the time it takes to turn back to the doors, he feels a small cool hand grasp the back of his head firmly. It is the first time anybody has touched him in his entire incarceration, and the shock almost makes him jump, and yet there is something tender in that grip, and in the hand that gently grasps his elbow. Dancing glee in the rapid-fire answer

"I know. That's what I'm waiting for"

Well that explained things. The boy was clearly quite mad. Erik tries to indicate this with a look, but finds he can barely turn his head. The hand that feels so cool and gentle on the back of his scalp is as strong as a vice, the one on his arm likewise. He is pinned, and very slightly frightened by that.

"What are you doing?"

He tries to sound as calm as he knows he looks. It's been many years since he last had a conversation, but he still recalls how to master his emotions. It doesn't do to let a boy with your head in his grasp know you're scared.

"Holding your head" he replies, rapidly again, "so you don't get whiplash"

Whiplash? From what? How would he possibly get an injury like that?

"What?"

"Whiiiiip-laaaaaaaaaash" the boy enunciates clearly, perhaps just slightly patronisingly, as if that explained everything perfectly. Erik doesn't like feeling patronised, but he doesn't have time to respond before the door begins to open and the world pulls into a red-shifted blur around him. He holds his breath, sure he would not be able to take another. Gravity tugs at him and he grits his teeth and closes his eyes. Then it's over. He's standing in the elevator he has seen only once on his way down to his cell a decade ago, steadying himself against the wall. He's glad he didn't have time to eat the lunch the boy delivered, sure he would have been wearing it on his shoes if he had done. His stomach roils queasily, he takes deep breaths to calm it, paying no mind to the boy until with a double-take that he thought must have looked comical, he glances back to see that he has shed the guard's uniform and changed into what Erik assumes are his own clothes. Glances at his watch, pays no attention to the man in his underwear taped to the wall of the elevator with layers of silver gaffer-tape. The guard's uniform, presumably belonging to the taped-up man, lays crumpled on the floor of the elevator. Somebody was going to have a lot of explaining to do, and Erik has a feeling it's not going to be this strange silver-haired boy whom he now knows is his least favourite kind of Mutant – a speedster.

It isn't that Erik has anything against speedsters exactly. Just that they are, without exception, some of the most deeply irritating people he has ever encountered with their rapid speech and twitchy, loose-cannon demeanour.

The boy seems worried, or perhaps nervous, sticking his hands in his pockets and heaving a short sigh. Gives Erik a sympathetic look as another wave of nausea hits and he closes his eyes to force it down.

"You're good, it'll pass" he says soothingly, "Happens with everyone"

Everyone but him, of course. Another reason speedsters could be so relentlessly annoying – they thought others could just shrug off high speeds the way they did, had probably never been travel-sick in their lives. Erik fights with his churning stomach, swallows bile, his head in spinning crazily.

"Must'a done something pretty serious" there's humour there now, and Erik isn't in the mood, "Why'd they have you in there? Whatcha do man? Come on, whatcha do, whatcha doooooo?!"

Speedster characteristic number three that he couldn't bear. The badgering. He rolls his eyes, mutters

"For killing the President" he doesn't hear a response, but there's a suspiciously long pause, "The only thing I'm guilty of is fighting for people like us"

"You take karate man?" The boy steps up, straightens his gaudy silver jacket, tries to square a jawline that is soft and almost feminine, "You know karate?"

"I don't know karate" Erik tells him, smiles despite himself at the non-sequiter, "But I know crazy"

There is a soft, pleasant chuckle and when Erik turns the boy is wearing that broad sweet smile again. There is something in that smile, in his depthless nearly-black eyes, even in the shape of his face, that Erik knows. The recognition is like a nagging pip caught in a back tooth and no matter how much he probes and reaches, he cannot dislodge it. Still, whatever memory the boy is touching, it is a pleasant one. Erik does not as a rule like many people, even Mutants, but he likes this boy. Likes his sweetness and his insanity, and his bravery, already.

"You control metal right?" he asks, looks pensive and Erik suddenly realises he is not as young as he'd thought, perhaps more like seventeen, "You know… my Mom knew a guy who could do that"

The pip of memory dislodges itself, and Erik knows his eyes and his smile and his sweet soft face. He looks so much like his mother it's astounding. He's about to say something, to voice his shock, to ask his mother's name, but before he can do anything the world is full of noise and chaos again and his old friend is punching him in the face. He sees the boy's shock as he goes down from Charles' remarkable right hook, sees concern in his face and then just as quickly a very definite sense that whatever is going on between the two men, he's not getting involved.

Wise boy. Clearly he has his mother's smarts too.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Erik doesn't know how he saved them all, but he knows that were it not for the boy he would be dead now. Not sitting in the back of a rental car with Hank McCoy driving, Logan in the back with them, both staring straight ahead and refusing to be a part of the blazing row that has been going on between Charles and himself ever since they had made their getaway.

"What were you thinking?!" Charles was yelling, leaning around in the passenger seat, "WERE you even thinking, Erik? Attacking them like that –"

"Defending us, Charles!" Erik thundered back, "In case you hadn't noticed"

"They would have killed us all" the telepath spat, "It was only Peter being there that meant we had a chance"

"And why didn't YOU do something instead of putting a child in danger like that?"

"You guys can we stop?" Peter chimed in, leaned forwards into the middle of their war and removed his headphones from his ears, "I'm starving, let's go get something"

Lost before he could retort, Charles simply stared at him, hesitated, fumbled over his words when he finally did find his tongue.

"What? No… no we can't"

"But I'm hungry!"

"We're getting away from the Pentagon where you just broke a dangerous criminal out of the highest security facility in the world, no we can't!"

"Yeah? Well maybe you didn't hear me right. I said I was starving and I mean that literally. So stop the car"

"This is a getaway vehicle!" Charles spluttered, voice rising an octave in disbelief, "We're not stopping!"

"You wanna take me home in a coma, dude? Because my Mom will kill you"

Charles rolled his eyes, turned back to stare out of the front screen and ignore both the fuming Erik and the whining Peter. The boy slumped back in his seat, unaware of Erik watching him out of the corner of his eye, began to worry his thumbnail between his teeth, feet tapping out a rapid uneasy tattoo. He didn't look happy, and if Erik was any judge of it, neither did he look particularly well.

"Charles" he said evenly, "Stop the car"

"Oh what now? Have you come over peckish as well? Need to use the little murderer's room? You should have gone before we left the Pentagon!"

"Stop this car as soon as possible," he continued in the same calm tone, though now with a vicious edge to it that was unmistakably threatening, "Or I will stop it for you"

Charles gave him a glance in the rearview, even without his telepathy seeing that Erik absolutely would either levitate the entire vehicle or disengage some key part if he didn't get his way.

"Stop the car, Hank" he sighed. The second they had pulled into as unobtrusive an alleyway as they could find, Peter had been gone out of the car door, returning perhaps ten seconds later with a large pizza box and what looked like a second pizza box jammed full of fries.

"Anybody want some?" he asked, "No? Fine, had your chance"

"Everybody alright now?" Charles asked sarcastically, "Can we go? Logan, do you want to maybe step out and have a smoke before we carry on?"

"Well if –"

"I wasn't being serious" Charles snapped, "Besides you can smoke in the car if you want, it's not like we haven't already breached the rental agreement"

The older man didn't have much where it came to manners, but decided nonetheless to wait until the kid had finished his take-out before he lit up, glancing down and seeing him working through the food at a rate of knots

"Whoah… where are you putting all that, kid?!"

He asked in disbelief, watching the skinny boy shovelling down handfuls of fries slightly desperately. Peter didn't reply, did not in fact look up until he had been left with two slices of pizza and paused for thought, glancing at Erik and offering them to him.

"Run out of room?" he asked the boy. He shook his head, shrugged

"You didn't get lunch today" he said quietly, "you should eat something"

He held out the box and its remaining slices. Erik couldn't help a smile at the kind concern in the boy's face, and at the gesture itself. It had been a long time since anybody cared if he'd missed lunch or not. Took one of the slices

"Thank you" he said, "You finish the other, you look like you need it"

It was heavenly. After ten years of military rations, nutritious enough but tasteless in the extreme, a greasy slice of American pizza was the food of the gods. Erik tried to make himself savour it, even licked the grease from his fingers, saw the boy beside him doing the same and smiled yet again. This had to be the most exercise his facial muscles had had in years, yet there was something so endearing about the kid with his continual fidgets and broad cute grin that Erik really couldn't help but like him a great deal. Plus he owed him his life and freedom, which certainly helped.

"You said your mother knew someone with my powers" he said, tried to sound light and conversational, but knew that his voice wasn't really built for that, "When was that?"

"Before I was born, dude. I never met the guy. But she… well, y'know, they had a thing" those long white fingers came up to make a slightly obscene gesture, "you know…."

"Yes.. I er.. I know what 'a thing' means" Erik told him, watched him lean past Logan to roll down the window as the man lit a cigar, sit back and slide down in the seat, getting comfortable. Sitting perhaps closer to Erik than he needed to, he could feel the boy's lithe body pressed against his side, pointed shoulder rubbing against his arm. It wasn't entirely unpleasant. "And your mother is…?"

"Magda Maximoff. Why? You think you know her?"

"Oh, I definitely did" he said softly, theory confirmed. Definitive proof was good, but truly Erik had already been certain. Nobody had flashing eyes as dark as jet like her, unless of course they happened to be her son.

"Come by and say hi some time, "Peter grinned, "When you're not top of the Most Wanted List, maybe. Mom would freak if the FBI showed up after you"

"I imagine so" he grinned back, "And your father?"

"No idea. Never knew him," at that, those eyes dropped just a little to study his hands fidgeting in his lap, "Him and Mom didn't get married. It's just us"

Erik was about to say something comforting, something to the effect that he was sure Peter took good care of his mother in the absence of another man, but the boy had turned to Logan and was now badgering him with questions

"Can I see those claws again, man? Are they bone? Does it hurt when they come out? How strong are they? How do they fit inside your arm? Did you ever think about getting them like coated with steel or something because that would look really cool... did you…."

Erik tuned out the babble, watched out of the window as the streets gave way to the highway and they began to approach a small private airstrip.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N : Oh my dear and lovely readers! You've been so patient waiting for this to be updated. I hope your patience has been rewarded and that you continue to enjoy this. Hopefully I'm now going to be marginally less busy, and will be updating with more like my usual frequency.**

Hank wished just for five seconds that the two men would stop bickering. They hadn't stopped snarking at one another since they had left the Pentagon, and so far it showed no signs of abating. He checked the fuel gauges, buried himself in meticulous detail, tried to ignore the raised voices.

"Oh so what was your plan then?" Erik spat, "Just fly over, tell Raven you're very sorry about everything and could she please come home? Strangely I don't see that working"

"And I suppose you have a better idea?"

"Are you really that blind, Charles? Why not get her out the same way you got me out?"

Charles closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. Shook his head a little. Either that last injection had really hit the spot better than usual, or his friend had gone utterly mad.

"Are you seriously suggesting we take that boy – that _child_ – with us? Put him in even more danger than he's already been?"

"He's exactly what we need"

"He's reckless!" Charles burst out, stood slamming his fist into a table, "He'll get himself killed or someone else, or all of us, or end up in some experimental facility when he's caught! He's just a child, Erik, a stupid, immature, irritating little boy and you are NOT dragging him into your fight!"

"M'not stupid"

Charles swung around in terror, saw Peter with his feet kicked up on a table, relaxed back in the seat. Wondered how long he'd been there, how much he'd heard. From the wounded look he was trying desperately to cover up with self-conscious cool, quite a bit.

"Peter, I didn't mean –"

"It's cool, don't sweat it Prof" he said dismissively. Kicked his feet down, made for the door with his hands in his pockets, "I wouldn't want me along either"

"Peter, stop" Erik said quietly. The boy did as he was told. "Are you sure? Forget his opinions, we've seen what you can do. Will you join us?"

"Erik!" Charles spluttered, "Who put you in –"

"Shut up, Charles. So what about it, boy?"

Peter looked between the two. The dishevelled, shaggy-haired Professor who looked like he'd rather be in bed. The steel-eyed, stern man who had the bearing of a general even in prison whites. Shrugged his shoulders, shook his head.

"My Mom's already going to be mad, dude" he said, raised an eyebrow at Charles "After all, I am just a stupid child"

He hefted the backpack containing his stereo-belt, a few spare battery packs, a handful of tapes. It looked heavy, and when Hank had picked it up from the car earlier he'd been surprised at the weight, fascinated all over again by Peter who must have enhanced strength as well as speed to shoulder that so easily. Pushed the door of the plane. Felt Charles' hand on his shoulder before he did and refused to turn.

"I'm sorry," he said earnestly, "I spoke out of turn. I think you're making the right decision"

"I know" Peter said simply. Pushed through the door. As he reached the car parked on the tarmac, Charles called to him again, tossed him the keys to the car. Peter plucked them out of the air easily, squinted up at the plane.

"Take the car back for me will you?" he asked kindly. At last, Peter smiled at him, "Oh and Peter… take it slow"

Erik was standing with behind him giving Charles a glare he recognised as one of his stock of severe and disapproving looks, and which had long ceased to faze him in the least bit.

"What?"

"Take it slow?" he asked, "really?"

"That's the end of this" Charles told him "I don't know why you're taken with him, Erik, and frankly I don't care. I assume you see some future acolyte of your cause in him"

"I see an energetic idealist. Someone with passion, who still believes the world can be different, better. Do you not like seeing someone who reminds you of what you once were, old friend? Is that why you can't bear to have him with us? Because he reminds you of yourself, when you still had a spine. Oh! Terribly sorry… poor choice of words."

Charles did not reply, only set his lips and stalked off, slammed the door of the cockpit behind him. Erik sighed and decided he should get settled for take-off, attempted to 'borrow' the newspaper that Logan had been pretending to read in a desperate effort to keep out from between the two of them, only to have it pinned to the table by three long claws.

"Imagine if they were metal" he told him teasingly, winked and began to buckle himself into a seat.

Charles may have been surprised to learn that Peter did, in fact, take it slow for a good half hour of the journey. Very slow, in fact, with frequent stalls and much grinding of gears and clutches. After ten minutes of working out the controls as he went, Peter was cursing himself for managing to get expelled before he even took Driver's Ed, for never stealing a car and learning in all his years of finding ways to amuse himself, but mostly for agreeing to take the car back at all. Maybe, just maybe if he hadn't happened to hear the Professor say those things about him, he would have owned up to not being able to drive. As things stood though, he'd considered returning the car in a state that could only be achieved by an impatient 17-year old learning to drive in it and knowing it would be charged to the old guy's card as fair revenge. Eventually he'd figured out which gears did what, and by the time he was navigating the suburban sprawl in which he'd grown up had relaxed into it and cranked the stereo up, humming along cheerfully to _Bad, Bad Leroy Brown_ by the time he'd parked outside his house. Almost instantaneously the front door had flown open to admit his mother, and she did not look happy. Reaching him just as he'd shut the car door behind him, the look on her face and the way she folded her arms all looking like she was this close to clipping him around the ear.

"Where have you been, who were those men, why didn't you call, and what the hell is going on?!" she demanded, "In any order, Peter, just the whole truth"

"And nothing but the truth so help me God?" he finished for her, one hand held up and the other to his chest, gave her a hopeful grin. It didn't seem to work. He sighed, gave her a serious look.

"OK, Mom? I know you're mad, and I'm sorry. Let's go inside and I can tell you"

"Why can't you tell me right here?" Magda asked, "And why is that car here – Peter did you *drive* that here?! You can't drive!"

"I learned. C'mon Mom, I really don't want to talk about this in the street" finally, she relented, allowed her son to slip an arm under hers and walk with her back to the front door, thawing a little with the relief of seeing him home safe, "by the way, what's for dinner?"


	5. Chapter 5

As luck would have it, dinner had been almost ready just as her son had arrived. Magda tried to make everything normal, to not worry or fret whilst the twins bickered as if they'd never been apart, their baby sister made a mess, and whilst Peter did his usual fantastic impersonation of a black hole. It was only once she had cleared away, descended the basement stairs to find Wanda and Peter playing table-tennis together, that she had truly begun to worry what the hell her wayward son had been up to this time, and how much trouble he was in.

"Wanda" she said calmly, "Go do your homework"

"But Mom!" they chorused in unison, matching looks of disappointment on their faces. She didn't relent.

"Now. Let your brother sit down after dinner"

"I'm fine, Mom! I don't –"

"Peter, quiet. Wanda, upstairs"

Her stony look brooked no refusal, and Wanda laid down her paddle and slunk upstairs, trailed her hand over her brother's shoulder gently as she went and gave him a comforting smile. She knew their mother's "Peter's in trouble so go away while I roast him" look only too well by now. Reluctantly, the boy had come to sit down beside Magda on the small sofa, studied the laces of his shoes in an unmistakably guilty way. Magda, on the other hand, leaned back and got comfortable, propped her head on her hand.

"So, apart from driving without a license or in fact being able to drive, what the hell have you done this time?" she asked sweetly. Peter bit his lip, glanced up at her. Swallowed hard.

"Are you sure you wanna know? It's pretty bad"

"Is it worse than stealing an arcade machine?"

"Definitely"

"Than painting a giant mural of a pig in a bathtub over the front of the Police station?"

"Much worse"

"Worse than sugaring the tank of the Principal's new car?"

"Worse than – hey! I didn't do that! That was you!"

"Exactly" she smiled softly at him, "So how much trouble do you really think you're going to get into with me, huh? I'm used to you, you won't shock me"

Peter gave her a long, dubious look, took a deep breath. Steeled himself and told her in a rush

"I broke a guy out of the Pentagon and I might have almost got shot and he's leaving the country so it's OK but yeah… I… y'know. Did that"

Magda revised her assertion that nothing would shock her. Stared at him dumbfounded for a moment and this time really did reach and clip him round the ear. Not hard, but hard enough that he knew she meant it.

"You said I wouldn't be in trouble!" he yelped, "No fair!"

"That was before I knew you broke someone out of PRISON, Peter!" she said shrilly, not quite yelling but definitely on the way there, "I don't know if you understand this, but people generally go to prison if they did something very wrong! And who is this guy anyway – do you even know anything about him?! What did he do?"

"Nothing!" Peter shouted back, hurt, "He's a freedom fighter, Mom, for us – Mutants, I mean! They locked him up because the government wanted to frame him for something he didn't do but he didn't DO anything!"

"And who told you that? This guy?"

"Yeah… but –"

"But nothing!" she snapped. Buried her face in her hand a moment before she had turned weary eyes on her son. He looked, unsurprisingly, both contrite and a little nettled, "Do you even know his name? This guy that you risked your life for?"

"Only his first. Erik. Tall guy, metal control – like that guy you knew. In fact he knows you, Mom, so really maybe I should be the one asking the awkward questions"

It was probably for the best that at this point, Peter had gone back to studying the scuffed tips of his sneakers. If he hadn't been, he would have seen an unmistakable look of 'oh shit' creep across his mother's face. Neither spoke for a moment, until he'd felt her hand rest on his back and glanced up

"Did anybody see you, baby boy?" she asked gently. He shook his head. "Good. You had me so worried – don't you ever vanish like that again. And don't bust any more strange men out of prisons without telling me first, K?"

He offered her a lopsided half-smile that didn't touch his eyes. Accepted her hand pressing him closer to hug him tightly. He hated worrying his Mom, though it seemed he was incapable of doing anything else sometimes. Let her stroke his hair behind his ear and kiss him softly on the top of his head, leave him alone to amuse himself and do whatever it was that she did in the evenings when her kids were all happily occupied. Slowly quiet had fallen over the house. Lorna tucked in her crib snoring away, Wanda blow-drying her hair in the room across the hallway, the sounds of the arcade cabinet drifting upstairs. Magda sat on the edge of the bed, and tried to convince herself that she was wrong.

After all, there had to be hundreds of metal-controlling Mutants called Erik, right? Thousands, even, on a worldwide scale. Really what were the chances that the one Peter had broken out was *the* Erik? Tiny. Incredibly tiny. Almost as tiny as the chances of her having got pregnant twice, six years apart, from two separate nights with the same man when she'd been on birth control both times.

Even given the odds, Magda may have convinced herself it wasn't her Erik if her son hadn't said the prisoner had known her. She had to admit that however many Mutants called Erik there were, she'd only ever met one. Which meant she now had to think about whether or not she would be telling her kids that actually, she *did* know who their father was. They'd got through so much without him already – Wanda's powers emerging, Lorna teething, Peter's illness and instability – and not to mention she still resented him for walking out like that. Would it even be right, to risk sending her son completely off the rails by letting his criminal father into his life?

She didn't sleep much that night. Lay awake listening to the small sounds of Peter occupying himself through the night into the small hours, the sound of the refrigerator door every half hour like clockwork, until he'd finally settled down to sleep himself. She thought of him snuggled up under a pile of blankets, still her little boy though he was growing up fast now, and wondered if he really needed that news right now. Wanda could handle it, Lorna was too young to care, but Peter – he was too vulnerable in too many ways. It wouldn't take much to push the poor kid straight back into those dark times when she'd feared she'd lose him to his own craziness. Maybe the last thing he needed was Erik in his life.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N : Only a short one, but there's another coming later today! Thanks for your patience everyone xx**

"If you ask me, an impressionable young boy is the last thing he needs in his life"

Charles grumbled, stared straight out of the windshield of the car. Beside him, Hank didn't respond. The Professor had been moaning on about his old friend for the entire day it had taken them to arrive at the site of the Paris Accord talks, only intensified once Erik had insisted he scout the place himself to see if he could find Raven. Frankly, Hank was getting rather tired of it, especially since he had no reason to think they would ever see the boy taking up so much of Charles' mental energy again.

"I mean just imagine how he could twist that kid up" he continued, "A boy that dim would swallow his ideals whole, and frankly I never want power like that opposing me"

"He can't be that dim" Hank muttered, felt Charles' eyes on him and shrugged, "Well he can't! Increased velocity means increased risk of collision and worse results if it happens, to move the way he does he must be able to calculate very complex physical equations in his head as he goes. Even if he's not aware he's doing it, that makes him very smart indeed"

Charles blinked at him, huffed, and went back to staring.

"Well he's still a bloody pain in the arse" he muttered.

Unbeknownst to the occupants of the car, the little family in DC, or even to the man currently the subject of an international manhunt, forces beyond their ken were moving gently into play. Trask liked to think of it as the movement of planets into conjunction – majestic, terrifying, and inevitable. Such were the plans he was currently setting in motion. The Secretary of Defence was virtually apoplectic, pacing the office floor restlessly, loathing the man who sat so calmly at his desk

"Well where is he then?!" the Secretary yelled, "I'm warning you Trask, if anything jeopardises these talks, there's going to be hell to pay. The President –"

"The President doesn't need to know" Trask told him smoothly, "we'll find him"

"How? He's some kind of all-powerful freak, how exactly are you going to get near him? Your toy robots?"

Shrugging off the insult to his beloved Sentinel programme, Trask smiled. It was a mild, almost peaceful little smile, betraying nothing of the cruelty that underlay it.

"We'll lure him out. We know about this man – and there's one thing he'll never resist"

"And what's that?"

"A fellow Mutant in danger" Trask smiled more widely, "We'll keep him occupied tracking down one of his own. And when he finds them, we'll have him"

"And what then Trask? Stick him back in a cell for another freak to come bust him out again?!"

"Oh no" Trask chuckled in in his throat, "I have somewhere much more secure than the Pentagon to put him. He'll be an asset to my research. And any Mutant that comes calling can be invited to stay and participate themselves"

"What about the female?" the Secretary demanded, "The shapeshifter – what do we do about her?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now – let me deal with Lensherr. I guarantee you I will set a trap he won't be able to stay out of"

Unexpectedly entering through a back door, Hank jumped as Erik slammed it behind him, huffed in frustration and removed his ridiculous cheap sunglasses. It was a poor disguise, but better than none, and in his present mood Erik didn't really care much about being recognised. He would have taken great pleasure in putting the nearest girder through anybody who got in his way.

"Bad news?" Hank asked, received a glowering look in the rear-view

"She's nowhere to be seen" Erik huffed again, "If she'd been there – if she spotted *me* - she would have revealed herself immediately. She's not here"

"So..?"

"So we wait" Charles answered for him, fingered a headache brewing in his temples, "she'll be here. Our charming resident time traveller assured us of that"

"Where is he anyway?"

"Liquor store, brothel, tobacconists, or actually doing some legwork – who knows? For now, there's nothing we can do. We wait for her and do our best when the time comes"

For a moment he sounded like the calm, collected man Erik had known and been inspired by, a little smile pulling at his lips at a glimpse of his friend's true nature.

"This would have all been much faster if we'd –"

"Don't" Charles cut him off, "Just don't start harping on about that child again, Erik. What's so fascinating anyway?"

"Oh not much" Erik replied, raised an eyebrow, "Just that there's a strong possibility that we may have more in common than you think"

"You're both extremely irritating, that much I'd noticed"

"Well what can I say?" Erik told him, leaned back in his seat and slipped the sunglasses back on, "Like father, like son"

Charles did nothing but stare at him in open astonishment. Hank drove.


	7. Chapter 7

7

All mothers worried about the dangers that the world posed to their children. Magda worried a little more than most. Wanda was fine of course – she was still in school, had the social skills needed to keep herself safe, had far more sense than most 17 year old girls. Peter on the other hand was a different story. Riding high on the success of his little foray out into the world – the first time he'd so much as left his house in daylight in three years – he was keen to start exploring, unable to understand why his mother wasn't more pleased for him. Thankfully for her, the topic of her old metal-bending acquaintance had been dropped under the more pressing matter of trying like hell to keep Peter's feet on the ground.

"It's not that I don't trust you, hon" she sighed, set down the dish she had been drying, regarded her son lurking in the doorway, "and you know I'd love you to get out more. But is now the time? I mean – what if people are looking for you?"

"Like the police? The police are always looking for me," a flash over to the refrigerator, reappearing in the doorway with a sandwich in his hand, "what's the big deal there?"

"The 'big deal', Peter, is that breaking someone out of the Pentagon may be slightly more than a police matter. Don't you understand that?"

"Of course I do! But they won't catch me – nobody ever caught me, Mom, and nobody ever proved anything! I'm totally safe out there, if anything bad happens, I'll just run home, it's cool"

Magda regarded him solemnly. Looked at the way his teenage face was beginning to harden into adult lines, body filling out slightly with muscle and now taller than her by an inch or so. Wanted more than anything to not let him have to face the dangers of the world, and yet knew that this young man he was becoming needed to emerge some time. No matter how much she wanted to keep him tied to her apron strings, she had to give him his freedom. She sighed heavily yet again

"You promise you'll stay safe," she said, "you get straight back here as fast as you can if you have to. No fighting, no stealing, no vandalism, and please don't try driving again - I promise we'll get you a license soon"

In an instant he was throwing his arms around her in gratitude. Magda was surprised to find tears welling up behind her eyes at the squeeze of his strong arms around her

"You're the best, Mom" he whispered, "I'll be home for dinner, I promise"

She heard the door bang behind him, hoped he'd have a good day and manage to stay out of trouble. Wondered what mischief he would find himself in this time, and firmly supressed the nagging thought that tickled at her mind : _But what if you can't run home, Peter?_

The majority of the afternoon had been passed without any sort of incident. Exploring the new stores that had sprung up in the local Mall, the new skate park nearby, stopping frequently to fill up at one of the many burger joints in town, generally reacquainting himself with a world that he'd felt locked out of for years. Ever since he'd been expelled, even more so since his Mutation had really taken hold, Peter found it hard to move in the world with the ease that others did, but his little adventure had given him new confidence. Made him feel like maybe the world wasn't ready for him, but he was sure as anything ready to take on this world. As such, he hadn't been paying too much attention, watching other kids scream and whoop their way into half-pipes and gnarlies, laying propped on his elbows stuffed pleasantly full of fried chicken and enjoying the late sunshine. He hadn't been thinking about whether anyone was behind him, or what their intentions might be, only about how good it felt to lay warm in the sunshine, close enough to humans that he could feel part of their world for once but not close enough to give himself away. Which was exactly how, despite his lighting reflexes and almost preternatural awareness of his surroundings, the woman had managed to get to within two feet of Peter without him noticing. She'd been watching all day, waiting for him to stay still long enough for her purposes, and finally he had. Peter was momentarily aware of a sharp pain in his neck, mind briefly interpreting it as a bee-sting before no more coherent thoughts could get through the electrical storm going on in his brain. The other kids paid no attention, assumed a parent was dragging the limp, twitching boy whose higher brain functions had just been immobilised with a taser to the spine back home. Did not for a moment think that the waiting car would be carrying him somewhere they could not have imagined in their worst nightmares.

Still feeling the uncoordinated spasms of his shocked muscles, Peter had little choice but to obey the urging hands that got him to his feet, the harsh whisper in his ear

"Come quietly, and I won't use it again"

He nodded stupidly. Couldn't quite fathom why it felt like his body wasn't under his control and his brain was tuned to a scrambled station. Unaware that he'd just taken an electric shock big enough to fell a deer straight to his brain and spinal cord. Obeying the woman who began marching him to the car in a dazed, trancelike state, some detached part of himself dispassionately curious about this newly-discovered vulnerability. When she had got him in the car, climbed into the backseat with him and tapped on the screen in front of them to signal the driver, she had once again pulled the taser out.

"Hey…" Peter slurred at her, "you said you wouldn't…"

"I lied" she smiled pleasantly, and jammed the taser against the back of his neck again. This time, she did not stop until he had slumped unconscious in the seat. Kept the weapon in her lap and watched the teenager closely in case the shock didn't last him the whole way to the containment facility he was bound for. That would simply be… inconvenient.

He woke to cold and darkness. Laying on something that resembled a prison cot and wasn't too comfortable, peered into the murk. He tasted iron in his mouth, thought he must have bitten his tongue during one of those shocks, felt groggy and disoriented as he sat up and perched on the edge of his cot. They'd taken his jacket, his shoes, his socks, his goggles, even his precious stereo-belt, and he was shivering in his light t-shirt. Suddenly, there was a click that snapped him back to full attention, and a voice came over an intercom from somewhere. A woman's voice – perhaps the one who'd taken him, perhaps not. His brain was too soupy to figure that one out still.

"Glad to see you're awake," she said calmly, "Now we can go over a few ground rules"

"Ground rules?! What? Who the hell are you man, what's going on!?"

"You have been selected for an experimental protocol designed to help the US Defense Department protect against novel threats" the woman's voice said smoothly, as if she was reading from a script, "On behalf of Dr Trask, thank you in advance for your co-operation"

"Whoah there – I've what?" Peter rose, turning in circles and trying to force his eyes to adjust to the darkness to little avail

"Rule One" she said, ignoring him, "You will not attempt to resist any of the staff of this facility, cause harm to them or damage to this or any other room, or attempt to leave your containment suite. Should you breach this rule, you will be punished"

"Oh right, punished. Whatcha gonna do, send me to my room?"

There was a brief pause before, instead of an answer, Peter suddenly found his feet unable to hold him up, falling and twitching briefly until the current in the floor was switched off. Panting for breath when it was over

"We would also greatly appreciate you to refrain from sarcasm, sass, and speaking when not spoken to" the woman told him. Peter exploded, ranting and throwing every expletive in his considerable vocabulary at the unseen voice, somehow finding a door and beginning to rattle it with both hands until a shower of sparks had thrown him backward, whimpering and with burned palms.

"You will have noticed that some amenities are missing from your suite" the woman continued. Peter didn't bother protesting, sat on the floor and shivered, "If you manage to behave yourself and do not breach the rules as set so far, you will be provided with heating and light. Cooperate fully with your intake assessment later today and we will provide you with food. Fail to do any of these things and you will spend the night cold, hungry, and in the dark. Do you understand?"

Peter nodded, half to test if they could see him, half out of misery stopping his voice

"Do you understand, Guest?"

"Yes! I get it OK? Behave or I get nothing. Understood. Over and Out"

"Excellent" the woman said, "If you manage to abide by our rules for one hour, we will switch the lighting on in your suite. Two hours, we will heat it. Good luck, Guest"

There was another click as the intercom switched off. For a few minutes, Peter only sat cross-legged on the floor, tried to shake off the muzziness from another shock, stared at his bare feet. He wrapped his arms around himself, curled up as much as he could, and started the battle to keep his core temperature up enough to stay alive for the next two hours.


	8. Chapter 8

Seconds dragged by to Peter at the best of times. In this complete darkness, pacing the room to try to keep warm, each one seemed to stretched into aeons. To keep himself occupied, he had begun humming to himself. Trying to run through the entirety of his favourite albums in order, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other evenly and slowly, knowing he would only get colder if he walked too fast or even slipped into running. He had no idea why, but he always felt freezing after moving at speed. It was half the reason he was so attached to his warm, heavy silver leather jacket. Focussed on his humming, keeping both arms wrapped around himself tightly, feeling the twitches and jumps in his protesting muscles as he tried to generate a little heat. At last, after interminable spans of time surely measurable only in geological eras, there was a faint hum and a dim uncovered bulb flickered into life. Peter took a look around his 'suite'. It was much as he'd measured it by touch, eight feet by ten, with conductive metal flooring and white tiled walls. The cot bolted to the wall was the only furnishing. Now though, he saw the intercom, mounted below what was unmistakably a camera lens sunk into the wall and protected by mesh. So they could see him. Great. Now he couldn't even work out his frustration with obscene gestures. As he watched, a little green bulb flicked on and the intercom clicked.

"Hello, Guest" the same woman's voice – definitely the one who took him, now he could think more clearly – "How are you settling in to your accommodation?"

As if this was a high-tech five star hotel or something. Peter seethed with fury, a flood of sarcastic angry replies boiling up his throat like bile. Swallowed them down and spoke in a voice so unexpectedly meek that even he was surprised.

"It's.. um. Minimalist. Yeah"

"Good. Congratulations on passing your first privilege point. In one hour provided you can continue to abide by the rules, your suite will be heated to whatever you will find a comfortable temperature. Good luck"

"Wait!" Peter called out. There was a pause, but no click, "I'm really cold…"

"Further interruptions to your instruction will not be tolerated and will result in the immediate loss of your last privilege increment" the woman said pleasantly, sounding more like a hotel receptionist every moment, "Please refrain from further interruptions. There may come a time when you are permitted to ask questions or make requests of staff."

The click again. Peter stood staring at the dead intercom, hugging his arms tightly around his chest lest it burst with the horrible, wronged, angry fear that was making his heart beat as though it would crack his ribs. Sat down like a marionette with cut strings and let go of the flood of furious, frightened tears. Bent his head until his forehead was touching his knee, every wracking sob slamming the raw edge of his ribs against his tightly folded arms. It hurt, but he refused to let them see his tears. Wouldn't give them the pleasure. Realised that this place was too well designed to break him specifically for them to have not been watching him before. Felt stupid and tiny, and wondered if he would get a phonecall to his mother just to let her know that every bad thing he'd ever done had come back on him and that he was just so sorry.

Eventually his tears spent themselves, and he rolled over onto his side, curled up into a ball to present the smallest surface area possible to the cold air. Stayed tucked into a shaking fetal position for a while before he had been too cold and had to resume his pacing. Within a half-hour, however, he'd realised that even after he got some heating, he was still in trouble. That big bucket of fried chicken seemed a very long time ago now. His stomach made a deep, hollow growl against his arms as he realised how hungry he was getting. The realisation only added to his fears – surely, they knew they had to feed him? Surely if they'd been watching him they knew that his speedster metabolism ran like a jet engine and that if they didn't fuel it, they might kill their 'Guest'?. Panic made him pick up his pace a little, so that by the time the intercom had clicked again, he had been shuddering with cold and terror and so hungry his guts had begun to cramp up painfully.

"Hello Guest. Privilege point two has been reached. What temperature do you prefer for your suite?"

"Hot" Peter stuttered, hugged his arms tighter, "Really hot… please"

"Your suite should reach a comfortable temperature shortly. Please continue to abide by the rules. Your preliminary assessment will commence shortly"

Another span of geological time. At least now, he could curl up still and conserve some of his remaining energy. After a little while exploring, Peter had discovered that the warmest spot in the room was right underneath the narrow bolted cot. Accordingly he had wedged himself tightly into the small space, crushed his arms down hard against his belly in a futile attempt to ease the stabbing hunger pangs, and sat feeling woozy and miserable until at last he had heard a new and different sound – the buzz of an electronic lock disengaging.


	9. Chapter 9

The buzz of the kitchen timer pulled Magda from her novel, rising and yelling up the stairs as she went

"Wanda, Lorna – dinner"

By the time the girls had arrived, both splodged in inexpertly applied make-up, Magda was just closing the front door, having been standing peering out into the warm twilight for her son.

"Have you seen your brother?" she asked, began pulling warmed plates from the oven, setting out four. The girls exchanged a glance, shook their heads

"I'll check his room, he might have crashed out for a bit"

Wanda suggested. Though Magda knew before she'd even got up from the table that Peter was not in his room. No matter how deeply he was sleeping or how loud he had his headphones turned up, he'd never not hear a call for dinner. Magda had always said he had extra ears in his belly to listen out for meal calls. As expected, Wanda returned to the table, gave her mother an apologetic shrug

"Maybe he lost track of time? You know what he's like"

"Yeah," Magda said faintly, drew herself away from the kitchen window to begin serving, "You're probably right"

She didn't believe that though. And as it transpired, neither really did Wanda.

Her mother had been staring out of the window again when Wanda had crept back into the kitchen. Lorna was peacefully occupied, for five minutes at least, with her ratty favourite thing in the world; a large, cuddly dinosaur that Peter had won for her at the Arcade one the last foray out he'd taken before it got too much for him. When it was new, the dino had been as big as the delighted little girl who received it.

"Mom?" she said softly. Madga jumped a little, steadied herself

"Oh! Sweetheart – did you want a drink?" her hands were already fumbling for a glass, "Is Lorna okay?"

"Yeah, no – Mom look I was just trying not to spook the Littlest earlier. I think, maybe –"

"You think Peter's in trouble don't you?" Magda asked her. Shocked by the adult seriousness with which her teenage daughter had swallowed, nodded. There was fear there, absolutely, but also an iron resolve that Magda wished she could say came from her side.

"Wanda" she said softly, "I need to call someone, honey – and when I have, we need to talk, OK?"

Wanda only nodded again. Went back to her baby sister and played, solemnly, until her mother re-emerged. She had no idea if it was a feature of her complex, multi-layered Mutation, or simply the unbreakable bond between herself and her twin, but she knew by that sick, heavy feeling of anxiety that had settled into her that whatever had held up her brother, it was nothing innocent. When Magda had returned to them and taken a seat on the couch, she looked like worry had put ten years on her face. Reached out a hand to Lorna and Wanda and held them both tightly against her knees.

"I've called someone who's going to help Peter" she said quietly, "he will do it and he will not fail, you understand girls? Peter will be home, safe, and the man who's going to get him would die to make sure he came home"

Lorna, unaware until this point that her beloved Big Bro was in any danger, sat with wide eyes and a finger in her mouth momentarily, before clutching on to her mother's leg and beginning to whine. Wanda fussed with her, soothed her, looked up at their mother.

"Why?" she asked. Not how, or who. Nothing so trusting as that, but Why.

In an instant, Magda was suddenly aware of the quite separate world her children had to live in. Where their first question was not 'who would help a Mutant?' but 'why would they?'. It sickened Magda to realise that though Wanda had caught the trick of 'fitting-in' much better than her twin, she too was confronted every day with her outcast status. Held her daughter's gaze and said

"Because he's your father" she paused, reached and pulled her shaky fingers through Lorna's hair tenderly, "Yours too, Baby Girl"

For just one shining instant, it looked as if this revelation might be taken well. That they could put this aside for now and continue concentrating on Peter. Then, with a very soft tinkling of glass as the standard lamp bulb blew, Wanda also blew.

"You told us our father was a criminal, Mom," she hissed, a reddish glow started to grow behind her eyes, "You said he was a bad guy, and a killer, and a violent awful man that you hoped we would NEVER have to meet. And that's who you've sent for my brother, huh?"

She'd almost hit a scream now, and there was a breeze springing up that had no real source. Wanda's fingers crackled red

"He didn't know about you!" Magda was shocked to find herself screaming back, sniffed hard and took several hitching breaths before she could speak, "We went wrong before I found out I was pregnant. If he knew you existed, he would have BEEN here and he is a dangerous man! I MADE that choice for you, to protect you! But believe me your father is at his most dangerous to anyone who would ever harm a Mutant. Even one he doesn't yet know is his son"

Wanda stared at her mother, now openly sobbing, clutched her sister to her. Her nostrils flared in rage but the red energy began to subside, the air in the room less heavy and charged. Spoke in a quiet monotone and asked

"If you didn't want to have anything to do with him, why do you have his number?"

Magda sniffed again, then to her daughter's surprise smiled a wobbly smile and said

"In case anything like this ever happened, honey. I've always made sure I knew where he was, in case my babies ever needed him. Because he is a terrible human being, Wanda, but he's an absolutely stunning Mutant."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N : Oh, like... hey... I'm so so sorry I've been so flaky with this story of late. I really REALLY appreciate how many of you are still following, posting lovely reviews, and most of all appreciating that I have this completely insane life (which I've made way more insane for myself lately) that sometimes gets in the way of writing and publishing. You're all awesome, thank you.**

 **Anyone who cares, IRL ramble down at the bottom in the postscript :) Until then - da-dah! The next two chapters are really short but hey at least you get new chapters right? Enjoy! xx**

 **10**

 _She may not be a Mutant,_ Erik thought to himself, looked up at the sweaty man gesturing with a telephone from the bar, _But there must surely be a little Witch in her._ To his own surprise, he smiled slightly as he rose from his seat.

It was a risk, being here at all. More so to call attention to himself like this. He'd rummaged in secondhand stores, come back with a long, brown leather jacket whose boxy shoulders concealed his distinctive posture. Hadn't shaved since he had escaped, dismayed to find that the black stubble was heavily seasoned with grey now. A slightly battered brown fedora pulled low to conceal the bright, hard eyes. Still, a risk to stand and stroll across this crowded public space despite that.

"Erik Magnus?" the sweaty man called again, looked around, receiver held aloft, "telephone, Etats Uni"

There were few people alive today who would use that name. Fewer still who would dare to have it shouted across a French bar. Erik held out his hand, gestured to the man

"Ici" he muttered, "c'est pour moi"

Without further confirmation, the man handed him the receiver. It felt hot and greasy, and Erik shuddered a little as he put the receiver to his ear.

" _Dzien dobry."_ That faint, crackly, familiar voice said, _"_ _wszystko w porządku?"_

Again, that involuntary twitch of the face. Almost a smile, more regretful than tears. Not because he was fond, not because of hate, but simply the tug of the memory of a beautiful young woman with high cheekbones and the darkest eyes he'd ever seen, speaking vehemently in Polish into a public telephone before slamming the receiver down and walking into his path looking close to tears. Of impulsively raising his hat to her, and speaking those very words in his native tongue to her.

"Magda" he said quietly, "What's wrong?"

Because when had she ever done this when something catastrophic was not happening? He didn't know how she was connected to always be able to find him like this, but he knew that for her to do so, the news was not good.

"Erik, are you sitting down?" the line was bad, but she seemed to be a little breathless. Erik slid onto a barstool

"Yes"

"Good. I'm sorry you have to find out like this, but there's no time to be nice. You have a son, Erik. He's seventeen years old and his name is –"

"Peter" Erik said quietly. Heard nothing but static on the line before Magda tried to whisper something. He cut her off again, "To tell you the truth, Magda I've been wondering who would call the other first"

"You… when you –"

"Careful my love. Loose lips?" He warned gently, sighed, "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know – Erik, he's in trouble. We can talk about this some time but please, right now Peter's in trouble. Please help him"

For the first time since that night they met, Erik heard the desperation of familial love and terror quavering behind her voice. Knew that on the other end of the line, thousands of miles away, her eyes were welling up. Softly asked

"Where and when?"

"This afternoon – DC, if you're with Professor Charles –"

"He's here. I'll get your address" he said hurriedly, "He'll be alright, Magda"

"Erik!" she said, brought the receiver back to his ear suddenly, took a shuddering breath, "Make them pay."

She knew as the line clicked dead that he had nodded, once, decisively before he had hung up the telephone. Knew that he was leaving the place he had taken her call even now, as she sat twisting tissues around her long, trembling fingers. Heart thudding in her throat, wondering what terrible force she had set loose on her family, knowing that whatever the cost, he was her only guaranteed way to bring Peter home alive.

And at least, perhaps, with whoever was responsible to vent his fury on, he might have a little less to expend on her when he finally saw her again.

 **IRL : So for anyone who sort of pays attention to what's going on in my life, I'm starting my first RMN job in a few weeks. Just waiting for my professional registration to come through and I'm there! So obviously things have been a neverending cavalcade of fun like criminal records checks, health clearances, identification checks (problem being I didn't have any ID, oops...) etc etc. But yay! First registered job! :D**

 **I've also started studying for my driving theory test, will be learning to drive, and am in training for this year's Tough Mudder Half in Yorkshire UK which I'll be doing to raise money for a mental health charity and *Oh Boy* don't think I won't promote the back end out of that when the time comes! You'll be sick of it.**

 **So yeah, basically I go work, home desk, gym, bed, repeat right now. But I can write too, and I really do genuinely love your reviews, follows and favourites. So thanks, Constant Readers, you're most excellent. xx**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N : Poor Poor Peter :'(**

11

Polished black shoes came into view. Peter trembled under the cot, but didn't move. Eyes wide. Was not sure he could move, with the locked-up pain in his muscles and bones that had been intensifying for the past half hour. He knew that was really bad sign, a red flashing warning light that his body was running down its supplies and would crash before long. Heard a voice above him – American, educated, unplaceable age and accent, male

"Conditioning has worked exactly as predicted," the voice said. Another male voice, deeper but otherwise similar replied

"Good to know. Our intel on this one suggests it's quite a menace" the second man dropped to one knee, peered under the bed, made a gesture of beckoning at Peter, "Come on out now. It's time for your assessment"

Peter tried to answer. Found his throat closed up in fear and pain and confusion, managed only to squeak

"Can't"

"What was that?" the first man asked.

"It says it can't come out."

"Oh well" the first man stooped, peered under the bed, addressed Peter, "Don't forget the rules now, if you want anything to eat"

The two men reached under, took hold of a leg each and pulled with far more force than needed, stumbled then caught their footing

"Light" the second man remarked, "interesting"

"Bone structure most likely. That and it's a scrawny one" the other bent to one knee again, unscrewed the lid of a plastic bottle and shoved the lip to his mouth, "Be fascinating to find out"

Peter had no energy left to fight the liquid flooding into his mouth. Prayed that if it was poisoned then it would take him down fast, had already swallowed several big gulps before he realised it actually tasted good, incredibly sweet. Just as quickly realised that he could feel energy and life surging back into his muscles.

"Get up" the first man ordered sharply. Peter stared at him, "Up, I said. Come on"

"Hey – what –"

"You will not attempt to resist any of the staff of this facility, cause harm to them or damage to this or any other room, or attempt to leave your containment suite. Should you breach this rule, you will be punished"

The first man told him, that same inflectionless factual delivery as the woman on the intercom

"I know, but – "

"Please refrain from further interruptions." The second man said flatly, "There may come a time when you are permitted to ask questions or make requests of staff"

Confused, creeped out, still just the tiniest bit wobbly, Peter allowed them to pull him to his feet gently, walk with one hand each resting very lightly on his back. Not enough to be pushing him forward, but enough that he could tell they were ready to shove at any moment should they choose. Walked with them in silence down a short hallway. Peter saw at least a dozen doors just like the one to his 'suite', but heard nothing from any of them. _Soundproofing?_ He wondered, and hoped that it was just that the rooms were empty. Felt in his gut that he was trying to delude himself into confidence. Entered at last into a larger, just as white tiled, just as sterile looking room.

"Vital stats," the second man said, "measurements then full external examination"

The first man nodded. Walked straight past Peter as though he were not there. The boy stared after him, perplexed.

"Hey… uh, dude?" he called softly, "Is the floor in here electrified? I mean – with all these machines, I guess it can't be, right?"

The first man stared at Peter blankly, as if he couldn't quite comprehend what he was saying.

"Please refrain from further interruptions." He said again, "There may come a time when you –"

"-are permitted to ask questions or make requests of staff?" Peter finished for him, "Yeah, floor's not hot, you'd have punished me already"

For the first time since his arrival Peter felt the smallest glimmer of hope that he really could get out of this unharmed. A tiny smile he couldn't hold back, before it had all gone wrong again. He yelped in pain as he felt the nip of a minor shock on his arm, whipped round to see the second man holding another of those blasted tasers.

"Cognitive testing is not yet deemed necessary or cost-effective in the case of this subject" he said, "Please refrain from speaking unless directly requested in response to a question or request"

"You guys, c'mon..." Peter said, rubbed at his stung arm, looked between the two. He could feel tears starting to prick at him again, choked them back, "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Cognitive testing is not yet –"

"STOP!" Peter shouted, pretty sure he came close to stamping his foot too, "Stop just repeating lines! You're people, you have to be people, why are you doing this to me?!"

"Record live?" the second man asked. The first nodded, "This subject appears prone to behavioural instability and emotional outbursts. Vital Stats follow"

Peter stared, let his jaw hang open a little. Wanted to speak again, to say he wasn't a subject or a Guest or a lab animal, he was a teenage boy and he'd kind of like to go home to his family now. The thought again occurred that this all seemed so planned – they knew exactly how to subdue him, exactly where to push to force him into obedience. After that, Peter did his best to let his mind go numb with the shock of finding himself here. Obeyed limply as the two men had weighed and measured and taken every possible sample of everything and tried unsuccessfully to read his heart rate or blood pressure, announced each result in an unvarying monotone. Had no volition to speak by the time they had returned him to the room, only to curl up underneath the cot and tremble in stunned silence.

He didn't know how long it was before the door buzzer sounded again. It didn't open this time, but a hatch slid open at the bottom, and closed again with a snap once a tray of food had been shoved through. No cutlery, no anything but a big paper bowl filled with beef stew and potatoes. Peter didn't care what it was or how it was served, fell on it immediately. Devoured the lot far too quickly. Felt sick and overfull and weary, hoped again they had more sense than to try to drug him as he had crawled back to his hiding place and drifted into a light, uncomfortable doze.


	12. Chapter 12

12

The files were sickening. She couldn't stop turning through their pages. Autopsy photographs, reports, testing records. Faces she had seen through Charles, had seen at the Academy. Faces she had loved, one she had loved more than any. Wondered if she would recognise the infant boy she denied if she saw his face here even as she stared at his father's bloody, lifeless demonic features. Was not even aware she had begun to cry.

Why had she come here? For proof of what she already knew. To justify her own plans perhaps. Raven wasn't a killer. Many things, many undesirable, but she had never taken a life. Perhaps she needed to assure herself that this life was worth taking, and that no other means would do. Glanced up at the painting that hung above the desk – an obvious homage to Jonas Salk, Trask's saviour complex in oils. There had to be more files somewhere, and Trask was just the sort of idiot to keep them hidden in some vault.

Where does the big villain hide his secrets? Why, behind a painting, of course. Raven watched James Bond like everyone else. As she pulled gently at the frame and saw it swing, she was satisfied that her assumption had paid off, manifesting Trask's thumbprint for the scanner and entering.

More files. More gruesome than before. That tear rolled down her cheek even as she heard a voice from out in the corridor.

"Dr Trask?"

"One second!" Raven called back, transformed as she turned, just in time to see a woman enter, hand her a few sheets of letterheaded paper.

"We added some names to the Paris meeting" the woman said pleasantly. Raven scanned the page. Saw nothing she did not already know. Smiled in thanks.

"And our new test subject's induction is proceeding well, you'll be pleased to know" the secretary told her. Raven, behind Trask's face, cringed at the devotion that shone hopefully out of her face, disgusted with her. "promising reports so far"

"I see," Raven told her, gave her another smile. The woman almost blushed, "could you pull all our documents on that subject? I want to go over them on the plane"

"Of course," she beamed. Turned back only briefly, "Is everything alright, Dr Trask?"

Raven swiped at the real tear cooling on her false face's cheek.

"Yes. Of course. The documents?"

It worked. Raven didn't have to wait long, stood around in Trask's office looking as if she belonged there, before that eager secretary had come to present her with another thin file. Good, Raven thought – not much yet, they can't have had this one long.

"Thank you" she said. Didn't look at the secretary gazing after her as she had swiftly slipped the papers into a briefcase and left.

Not an hour later, a red-haired businesswoman sat on the plane to Charles de Gaulle. Smiled at a boy beside her, gripping the arm of the seat tight as they took off. Took out the file and made a show of casually flipping through it as though it were some dull briefing. Looked at the pictures of a teen who looked younger than he should, scared and vulnerable. Read the lists of values and numbers that they had reduced his physical being to. Hoped that by doing what she was about to do, she would stop that boy becoming another face in the autopsy report file. She slipped the file away, closed her eyes. Dismissed his image from her mind. She couldn't afford to let herself become distracted by one boy in trouble when her job was to try, with one murder, to make sure no little Mutant teens would suffer again.

Erik wouldn't have done it this way, she thought as an announcement told them they could all unfasten their seatbelts now. If he had been in charge, they would have saved the boy. Not relied on taking Trask out of the equation, but gone to his aid themselves. With Erik by her, they had done some horrific, shocking, and heroic things – she'd been a real hero then. Now she was just a murderer in waiting.

Her mind went to him frequently. More so in the past two days when rumours had flown that a top-security prisoner had escaped the Pentagon, just knowing who that must be. Wondered if he would seek her out, or her him. If he would aid her or stop her. Raven teetered on the edge of a doze, wondering in that trancelike suspension which of the many possible futures would ultimately come to pass, and if it would be one in which she lived.

As she landed, she couldn't have known that not far away in a cheap hotel room, her old lover was currently advancing on a mutual friend with the threat of death if defied glittering in his eyes. Hank blinked at the glare, stuttered a little before he managed

"I'm sorry, you…? We need you here. We broke you out of jail to be here. And you…" the doctor laughed nervously, a little more bravely than he felt, "You want to go visit some old flame?"

Erik barely twitched, but a moment later Hank yelped as the left lens of his glasses shattered. Erik released his hold on the frame, smiled tightly

"And I'm very grateful to you, Hank. Your favour will of course be repaid. For now, however..." he held out one hand, beckoned, "the address"

Hank bristled. The slightest blue tinge appeared, flushing around his widening jawline, lowered his posture a little and growled back

"Your job here comes first"

Erik took a single step toward him, held his yellowing gaze, hissed quietly

" _Mutants_ come first"

Another moment, and the two would surely have torn one another bloody, had it not been for Charles' voice – urgent, perhaps even a little scared – calling out from the adjoining room

"Hank!" he called, "I found her. I found Raven"

Hank pushed his feral self back under his skin, followed the voice

"She's here?"

Charles nodded, reached for the bottle of brandy on the table.

"And it's exactly as Logan said. She's going after Trask"


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N : Thanks for lovely reviews, my dears! Glad to see you are still enjoying this. It's... growing. A few of you will have got a little note from me digging for feedback. I hope in this and my subsequent stories, I fulfil some of the suggestions you've all made to improve my writing. Thank you again for your support. Please see below this chapter for (the first of many) babbles about my chirty Mud Run this July.**

13

Peter had to admit they were smart, and the smart things he'd noticed them doing gave him at least a little hope that the plan wasn't to kill him. At least not in the immediate future. Whilst the idea of more prodding and poking and testing and challenges struck him as a horrible way to live his life, at least it was better than not living at all. It was a small, pathetic thing, this hope – but he kindled it, nonetheless. Looked for those small signs of evidence that for now, he had more value to them alive. They patched him up well, after they had explored the delicate bones of his feet with probe and scalpel, unsatisfied by mere x-rays where it came to studying the fascinating honeycomb bones that made him so light and agile. Had even been good enough to amputate the toe they took cleanly and care for the wounds. Even if they hadn't thought anaesthetic was needed whilst they did that, at least he wasn't going to die of gangrene. And hey, who needs a middle toe anyways? The wounds would heal well. They'd left him all the toes he needed for balance. They didn't want to ruin his powers, after all. And they were feeding him, at least. True that he was always hungry, that by the time his dish of food would arrive every few hours he would be so ravenous that he unfailingly ate too fast and got indigestion. But he wasn't going to die of starvation – at least, not if he carried on not struggling. Six dishes of plain, filling food a day wasn't enough for him to have any fight in him, only enough to curl under his cot and lay still, sleep when he could and move only to comply when they took him for testing. At least they fuelled him up with enough sugar if they were going to make him do anything - small mercies.

He stared at the scratchy, Privilege-Point-Three blue blanket, fingering the corner. Thought how grateful he was to have a blanket now, and tried to strangle the part of him that railed against him being so thankful to them, so beholden to them. Forced those rebellious thoughts down, told himself to be glad of what he did have. Not to think of them cutting into him without anaesthesia because why would an animal need that? Not to think of how his belly hurt all the time, how his meals were perfectly timed to starve him right up to the edge of becoming really unwell but never any further than that. How much relief and gratitude he would feel when that dish of whatever arrived. How every tiny thing here was calculated to represent and reinforce their absolute dominion over him. They'd exploited his wonky perception of time with such intense and total conditioning that in two days they had him trained like a lapdog.

When he got to thinking that, he stopped being so glad that keeping him alive seemed to be on their To Do list.

Laying still to conserve his energy, no longer even contemplating the idea of making a break, he had far too much time to think. To wonder if his Mother knew he was in trouble or if she was mad with him for vanishing. If Lorna was okay, or having trouble sleeping without Big Bro to tuck her in as he had been doing ever since she was tiny. If anybody knew where he was or what was happening to him. If anybody was ever going to try to get him out.

He couldn't help but wonder, of course, if this might not have the tiniest bit to do with him having just whisked someone very powerful out from under the CIA's noses. They probably didn't like that one little bit. It hadn't really occurred to him until now that maybe when something felt too easy, it sometimes really was. And yet somehow, he didn't regret it one little bit. Maybe it was just that connection with his mother, maybe it was the weary, hunted alertness in his eyes that Peter understood too well, but he knew deep in himself that the man he had freed was not a monster. Or at least if he was, he was the sort of monster they needed around. He comforted himself with the idea that if he'd done a good thing, he could bear this as a price. That comforting heroic lie didn't always work, but sometimes it got him back to sleep at night.

A shut-in he may well be, but Peter watched enough TV to have a pretty good idea of what sort of world he lived in. One that was starting to wake up to the idea that there were a few people who'd been born just a little differently made. Peter had seen grainy footage of assaults on some not fortunate enough to blend in well. Heard politicians debate the existence, and possible threat of these new people. Realised that they were talking about him, his sisters, when they speculated and spread insidious fear and distrust. Already, not knowing how much worse it would get, he saw that people like him… well, they weren't really people. That's why they didn't need anaesthesia or cutlery or TVs or comfortable beds or people talking to them not about them.

He hadn't had long to talk to the man they'd freed, but in that short time, he'd already got to know that perhaps in a world like this one, they needed someone like him. Though right now Peter would have settled for anybody coming to help him – he'd already toyed with The Saint, Charlie's Angels, or International Rescue, dismissed the last as stupid because they were _puppets_ – he really hoped, as deep as a cold, scared hungry boy could hope, that it was him who might come. That the cold-eyed man he'd helped believed that one good turn might go a way toward justifying another.

 **A/N : Well I don't know about you but I'm heartbroken now :'(**

 **Leaving poor Teen!Peter for a moment, I'm aching all over right now after busting my sprint time and swimming half a mile today. I'm doing all this because this July, myself and a colleague will be slogging through 5 miles of mud, obstacles, freezing water and hazards to raise money for Rethink Mental Illness. They're a UK-based charity who fight stigma, educate about mental health, and provide direct help and support to anyone who needs it. They're a terrific charity, and I have every intention of doing a darn good job this July for them. We have a Just Giving page. Our team are the Dirty Nurses. It would be remiss of me to not use the voice I have here to at least tell you we exist.**

 **Thanks for reading. I'm off to bathe in muscle rub.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Super-long A/N : Hey so I'm aware that I've kinda written Logan out of this. There's reasons there, partly choice (it's not his story to the extent that it was in the 'main universe DOFP' so honestly, I'm less focussed on his arc than I am on Erik.) Partly improving on a difficulty I have with the film (Logan is such a marketable character that for a while, an X Men film had to star him or it didn't rate. Thinking about it, Logan doesn't do much after setting the wheels in motion and getting Erik and Charles together again.) And lastly because I find him so very difficult to write. Logan can be easily so badly written as to become self-parody, and to avoid that, he won't be in it much. Sorry Wolvie fans! I love him too, I just can't make him work for me.**

14

"Where is she?"

Charles barely glanced up at the man, refilled his glass. Smirked unpleasantly to himself

"And why do you care? I thought you were leaving?"

"And leave Raven with you?" Erik scoffed, "On the contrary – I'll fulfil my obligation to you, old friend, but only because I need her beside me now more than you need to rebuild some of the bridges you've burned"

"This isn't about that!" Charles roared. Was on his feet in a moment, the tumbler and its contents exploding in a shower of wet glass against the wall as he squared up to Erik, fury twisting his face into an ugly snarl, "This is about the future, Erik! Your future, hers, OURS, the whole Mutant and human races! Whatever selfish diversion you have planned, it can WAIT, do you understand me?!"

Erik said nothing, until the ghost of a smirk pulled at the corners of his lips. Charles drew a fist back, but this time Erik was ready for it, caught it in one hand and twisted his wrist painfully.

"You'll get your way, Charles. You always do in the end. Raven will not kill that man, because she will be with me, cleaning up your mess"

"You're the only mess I'm responsible for right now" Charles grunted at him, grit his teeth against the pain as Erik twisted his wrist further

"Oh no no no… there's me, the boy you endangered, and the trail of bodies I will leave if a hair on his head has been harmed" Erik told him. Released his hand, "Now where is Raven?"

She was, as always, illusory and slippery. Tracking her was like tracking smoke, especially without Charles' abilities to help them. Each time they lit on some suspect, it would transpire to be merely an aide, some junior politico, some member of the extensive retinue required by the signatories of the Accords. Never the woman they sought. Both Logan and Hank had tried to track her scent, until Charles had turned to them, raised both arms in a sloppy gesture of defeat.

"What now?" he asked, frustrated, "Wait for her? Carry on? This is ridiculous…"

"We carry on – I'm telling you Charles, she's here" Logan insisted, "I can smell her. We can't give up now"

"Oh really and exactly when can we give up?" he retorted angrily, "I'm really starting to think this is a complete waste of time"

"Charles…." Hank said quietly. The man ignored him

"Couldn't you have brought an itinerary back from the future with you, hmm?" he asked archly, "Or doesn't it work like that?"

"It doesn't work like that" Logan told him, gestured helplessly "It's more of a… y'know, consciousness, kind of –"

"You guys, seriously" Hank said again, louder, "Where's Erik?"

All three looked around rather stupidly, until Charles had removed his sunglasses to rub wearily at his eyes

"Perfect" he muttered.

None of them could have known, of course, that at that very moment in a room two floors above their heads, a pretty, petite translator was holding Erik at gunpoint. Not only that, but at what she assured him was specially-adapted reinforced glass shell gunpoint. The reinforced glass gun certainly seemed to bear that out.

"Raven please," Erik licked dry lips, held out his hand half in defence and half in offer, "Listen to me. You cannot kill that man"

At that, unexpectedly, she smiled. It was not the smile he remembered, but flashed sharply with no humour behind it.

"Oh believe me, I can" she told him soberly, lowered the pistol, repeated, "I can"

"And in any ordinary circumstance I would say go to it and good luck, but my dear _please_ – this is a death that will have too many repercussions, you mustn't –"

"Have you seen what he does to us?" Raven burst out, furious, "he cuts us up like lab rats, makes us challenge our powers until we drop! And now these robots – he steals our gifts, Erik. He takes them from our bodies and he puts them into those machines. To kill us. Tell me again why I mustn't."

She grabbed for the briefcase on the table, snapped it open. Erik prepared himself for another assault, but instead she threw a thin file onto the floor at his feet

"Look at what he's doing to this kid, and tell me not to kill him" she told him. Stood with folded arms and attentive eyes whilst he stooped, picked up the file. Glanced down, and froze to his core. Raven nodded to him, misunderstood the look that stole across his face.

"You see?" she said softly, "I have to do this"

Gently, Erik offered her the file back. Smiled beckoningly to her, and again held out his hand. This time the gesture was soft, almost kind. Seductive. She saw for a moment a man she might still love, were she under the delusion that such selfless feeling were possible for either of them. Yielded to him and took the outstretched hand.

She was on the ground on her back before she even had time to cry out. Raven was strong and lithe, but Erik was stronger, always had been. Planting one hard knee in her solar plexus, bearing down with all his weight, she struggled but could do nothing as she felt an iron hand clamp around her jaw and heard the click of a pistol. In her peripheral vision, she saw her own weapon, levelled at her head.

"Come with me now," Erik whispered, "And we will tear Trask to shreds together when the time comes. Or follow your own path and die now"

Jaw throbbing with the crushing pressure of his fingers, tears of pain springing unbidden into her eyes, Raven managed to choke out two words

"With you"

She was released, gagging and gasping. Erik only smiled once more and stood, waited patiently for her to recover. When she had caught her breath, he spoke quietly.

"I've missed you, my dear."


	15. Chapter 15

15

The table was cold, the paper underneath him scratchy and rough and crinkling when he fidgeted, but Peter tried to comfort himself with the fact that they couldn't shock him with all those electrodes wired up to his chest. So it was going to be the treadmill again today. That wasn't so bad, he told himself. At least he'd sleep well later. He winced at the sudden cold of more adhesive and another metal spigot being attached, kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, jumped hard at the unexpected hand that poked him firmly in the ribs.

"Perhaps we should feed it more" the first man said contemplatively. His companion shrugged.

"Seems to be performing fine" he replied, finished attaching the final electrode, "raise it at the briefing if you want, but we haven't been told it has to maintain its weight"

Peter wondered why they wouldn't even assign him a sex. With all the poking and handling and stripping him down to his plain black boxers they'd done, surely they had to know he was biologically male? But no, he was still an 'it'. Not a boy, definitely not a man. Focussed on that instead of the terrifying idea that they didn't care that he was dropping weight, not so much because of the limited diet but mostly the uncertainly that kept him on high alert all the time and forced him to shiver with fear. It wasn't so bad yet, but frustrating all the same with how hard he'd worked to get himself up to a halfway-decent 85lbs in the last few years. Sat at their urging and watched dumbly whilst they put his sneakers on his feet, laced them neatly for him. Stared at the silver tips of his Cons and wondered if he'd ever get the chance to replace them. Unexpectedly, the thought that he might not live to get the new pair of running shoes he'd been considering made tears well up in his eyes. He sniffed them back noisily, but couldn't stop a strange, hiccupy sob. The two men looked at him strangely, before the first had said

"It's crying again"

"Get the mask on" the second responded, had already picked up a clipboard and begun recording, "It can't cry if it can't breathe"

Peter lost count of the number of times he had passed out over the next hour, gasping desperately as they had set him to run and run at ever increasing speeds, the mask clamped tightly across his face providing not life-giving air but pure co2, so they could test his lactic acid production. Tried his best to hold in one big breath of clean air when they would unfasten the mask briefly when he fell, then replace it as soon as he had begun to come round and set him running again. Eventually, he'd stirred back to consciousness not on the floor of the testing room but back on the examination table. Little pulling pains as they removed the electrodes, dulled by the heavy, woozy feeling that rendered him unable to even twitch at the sensation. Rolled over with a gargantuan effort when they were all removed and retched violently. Nothing to come up, but his body tried repeatedly anyway. Realised that he was trembling, tensing as if it would stop the burning, tearing pain in his muscles or the heavy ache in his chest. Moaned ineffectually as one arm was seized and tourniqueted, didn't even feel the needle going in to draw blood, only aware of it when the second man had begun jiggling the tip and made a small, puzzled "Hmm"

"Can't find a vein?" the first asked, "The right radial is fairly good"

"No I'm in. I just can't draw anything" another little jiggle before the needle was withdrawn, "perhaps it's too dehydrated"

Without hesitation, Peter felt a smooth hand press his head over to one side, tilted his chin up to thrust the needle into the side of his neck. The pain was excruciating, a sharp pulling that made his dimmed vision even fuzzier. Finally the man held up a vial full of thick, black blood, made a brief grimace of distaste.

"Disgusting" he muttered, laid the vial carefully aside, "Give it extra water today. I think we're done for now"

Sitting back in his suite, Peter gripped the paper cup of water loosely between both hands, was glad that there was no reflective surface here for him to see himself. Knew he looked grey and dishevelled and awful. Tried another little sip of water that made his anxious, forcibly-emptied stomach clench painfully. Really, really hoped that if nobody was coming then they would keep testing him as hard as that. He didn't think he could survive too much more of it.

The afternoon session was much kinder. At least he could stay still whilst his head was held underwater until he had fallen unconscious again. Passively drowning was about he felt up to doing right now anyway.

With such a high-profile terrorist on the loose, the fragile political climate, the overall sense of urgency, security all over Paris was tight. The frantic look on their faces almost amused Erik as he had slipped through airport security escorted by a burly guard in airline uniform. A few rapid words, a quick exchange of falsified papers, that was all it took. A shame that humans were so ingenious in all the wrong ways, he had thought as he settled into his seat in the light aircraft, watched Raven ripple back into her true form as she checked the controls.

It had been too long since he had seen her, he realised. Despite the anxiety of his task ahead, the roiling emotion kept for now seething like lava beneath his surface, he took a moment to appreciate the view of her bare, blue neck ornamented with iridescent scales. Buisinesslike as she settled her headset on, adjusted the 'phones to her head, bent once more to the instrument panel. Erik wondered if she would be so beautiful if she were not so fierce. Contemplated the Raven he had known a decade ago, just stirring into full consciousness of human cruelty, and concluded that she would.

"We're cleared," she told him, didn't turn to look at him. Didn't speak again until they were far out over the Atlantic. Erik watched the skim of clouds, the heavy iron grey of the water far below through occasional breaks. Watched her hands on the controls, as steady and professional as any fighter pilot. Pondered the curse of his attraction to highly capable women who would not put up with him.

"Do you have a plan?" she asked suddenly, "Or is this a classic Lensherr move?"

He grinned sharply at the back of her head. Loved her bluntness and could not take offense

"Classic, I'm afraid" he said, "For now at least"

Raven shook her head, but he could tell she was smiling too. A long pause, before she asked

"Who is he? The boy in the file"

"The file has details of the facility, Raven. That's what interests me." He lied, paused, knew that in front of him, Raven had that watchful look she wore when he wasn't done, sighed "He helped me. I owe him"

"And?"

"And I believe that some of us actually were born heroes" he said bluntly. Raven got the message.

"What were you doing in Paris? Apart from looking for me"

"Mostly just that" he told her, "Actually, the plan was to kill you, but I assure you that it was for a perfectly good reason"

She took a moment, nodded. Trusted his judgement.

"Is the plan still to kill me?" she asked calmly. Erik shook his head, though she couldn't turn to see him

"Hopefully not" he said softly. "But time will tell."

"Let's hope not" she echoed, "Martyrdom isn't really my style."


	16. Chapter 16

16

Amid the waiting crowds outside in the warm, early sunshine, Charles and Hank clapped dutifully as two men emerged from the grand door, held up a piece of paper that nobody could read from there. The rolls of polite cheers crashed around them as they exchanged a glance.

"Somehow it feels kind of anticlimactic, don't you think?" Hank said, twisting his face in confusion, still clapping mechanically, "I mean, is that really it? The end of the war?"

"The end of this one" Charles responded gloomily. "There'll always be another"

They turned, started to push gently through the throng toward their rendezvous with Logan. Hank gave his old friend a wry smile, muttered

"You're starting to sound like him, you know"

Charles speared him with a glare

"Like Erik?" he laughed humourlessly, "I don't think so my friend! When did you last hear me incite genocide?"

"When did I last see you do something about it?" Hank challenged. Clear of the majority of the crowd, they had stopped, Charles rounding on him with his hands on his hips. Undettered, Hank continued, "Maybe the past didn't go the same way this time, but this is still a new age. We should open the school again. Try again. Do something"

"Sorry, maybe I misheard you – you think we should take on pupils again?" the Professor asked, "With him on the loose? You're bloody mad, you realise that? I'm surrounded by the absolutely bloody mad…"

He strode away. Hank paused, called after him

"So what then?"

"We're going after Erik to put him back in a little plastic box where he can't do any harm" Charles called back, "coming?"

Hank smiled secretively, strode after him, pleased to finally see a little motivation. Paid no attention to the man in the unseasonable trenchcoat who strode past him toward the crowd, toward the men posing in handshakes for the cameras, attention only drawn when a loud voice had rung out over the hubbub

 _"_ _No Accord!"_ the man yelled. A few people screamed shrilly as he pulled a semi-automatic rifle from under his too-warm coat, _"_ _Viva la Viet-Kong!"_

More screams, a few gunshots. People began to scatter, tripping and crashing as only a panicked herd of stampeding animals could do, clearing a path for the gunman to stride through. Hank hesitated no longer, form changing as he charged, a single bullet searing across his arm as he crashed into the armed man and rolled with him in a vicious tackle. Everywhere there was screaming, and over that the sudden clatter of boots on the ground, the grand doors which had swung shut to shield the Generals now opening again and admitting a small group of what had to be Special Forces. Dimly, Hank heard Charles shouting to him as he pinned the gunman down, saw him lose consciousness, looked up into the barrels of several rifles and froze.

Several video cameras and the bright flares of flashbulbs caught glimpses of the huge blue creature as it had bounded nimbly away, knocked down the Forces men like ninepins. More like an ape than a man, using all four prehensile limbs to grip as it escaped, shocked screams dying away into stunned chatter. A radio crackled.

" _Collect the sample_ " Trask's mellow, calm voice told them. At a signal, two of the Forces had stepped forward and begun to carefully scrape the smudge of blood from the asphalt.

Above them, at the mullioned window, Trask let the net curtain fall back gently and turned to the table again. White-faced captains of industry and political backers sat staring back at him. He took his time as he returned to the head of the table.

"As you can see, gentlemen, the Mutant threat is very real and very present" he intoned solemnly, looked around at the frightened faces, "My demonstration today has proven that our current weapons are ineffective against these creatures. Now – having seen this, perhaps we could discuss the funding for the Sentinal programme in more detail?"

The US Secretary of Defence stirred in his seat, cleared his throat

"How quickly can you ready the programme for deployment, Dr Trask?" he asked. Trask smiled as smooth as buttered silk.

"A prototype display can be ready within the week, General" he replied. The Secretary nodded tightly.

"I'll brief the President."

Hank strained round for a better view, snipped the end of a suture neatly, glanced up at Logan in the mirror her was using to stitch his arm. Finally finished and rose to wash his hands. Saw the look on Charles' face as he passed and smiled faintly

"I'm fine," he assured him, "Stitches are a precaution, it's just a flesh wound"

Charles gave him a weak smile in return, a little false-sounding chuckle

"Physician, heal thyself" he remarked, "Typical of our luck that it's our doctor who gets shot"

"Speaking of, you're due for one" Hank told him, raised eyebrows in surprise as Charles shook his head, massaged gently at his numb legs

"He needs his powers" Logan said simply, "Right Charles?"

"Right," he confirmed. "That man… he wasn't there for the signatories. He was there for us"

"What?" Hank asked in disbelief. Logan tutted

"Look I know you were busy getting shot, but he didn't aim a single bullet at anyone else" he said, approached them both, "He was there for you, for your blood. Raven didn't even need to be here, it's happened anyway"

"The.. thing we were stopping? It's –"

"It's not Raven he wants, Hank," Charles said wearily, "It's clearer now, I'm starting to understand. That attack – it was too neat. All he wanted was your blood."

Hank stared down at the rip in the flesh of his bicep. Standing stripped to the waist, human form looming gawkily over the two men, understood at last

"The anti-mutagenic serum" he said quietly, "I made it from…"

"From Raven's DNA" Logan finished for him, "And now they've got it, Doc. Not from her, from you"

"And Trask can build his army" Charles added grimly. Heaved himself up with an effort and leaned heavily on the doorframe as he limped over to begin packing his few belongings, "One more shot, Hank – just to get me home. But when we get there, I'm going to need my chair"


	17. Chapter 17

17

"We have to warn you that some of our viewers might find this footage… disturbing"

The news anchor intoned, looked down at his sheaf of papers. Lorna jumped in her sister's lap as the screaming started to emanate from the TV, looked up and saw the grainy footage of a large, funny blue monkey jumping about. Wondered why anyone would be disturbed by a film about a funny monkey that jumped about and turned her attention back to her brand new Speak N' Spell. Mom had been doing a lot of buying new toys and cooking favourite meals and hugging her daughters to her spontaneously this last week. A lot of sitting still on the sofa with a glass of the nasty-smelling stuff that Wanda called 'Mommy's Poison' in one hand and the telephone cord stretched to its full extent so that she could rest her other hand over it. New toys and hugs and favourite food was great, but Lorna hated it when Mommy would sit so still like that. Missed her big brother and knew even at her age that he wouldn't run off like this without telling them. He hardly ever went out anyway. She asked him once, why he didn't go out and dance and talk to girls like Richie in _Happy Days_ did all the time. Peter had just told her he was more of a Fonzie type, popped his collar and made her giggle, didn't really answer her question.

"In light of reports at the site of the Paris Peace Accords, the President has ordered immediate activation of the experimental defence system proposed by Dr Bolivar Trask. The so called Sentinel Programme will be –"

The television clicked. _Days of Our Lives_ , halfway through an episode took the place of the news.

"Mom!" Wanda said, annoyed, "I was-"

"We don't need to see it" Magda told her. Threw the remote control back onto the coffee table and took a drink, "Lorna doesn't need to see it"

"I liked the blue monkey" Lorna said quietly. Offered her Mother one of those cheeky little grins that usually made her smile even when the child had made a mess. This time, instead of a smile, Lorna saw Mommy's bottom lips draw in and shake a little. Saw her eyes get big and shiny the way her brother's did when he was trying not to cry.

"C-A-T!" Said the Speak N' Spell brightly, "That's right!"

"She should know what she's up against" Wanda muttered. Picked at the hole in the toe of her sock.

"Room" Magda responded dully, took another drink, "Now. Take Lorna with you"

"But –"

"No ifs, no buts, no whys or whats or wherefores, Wanda. Room."

Cross-legged on the floor, untameable red curls washed that morning and tumbled around her face, Wanda looked up at her Mother steadily. Held her gaze until the older woman was forced to look away. She hated to think it, but her oldest girl frightened her sometimes. Whilst Peter was mostly a danger to himself, his twin sister was genuinely a force to be reckoned with.

"Calling our _Dad_ again?" she asked unpleasantly, challenged her with a look. Magda didn't turn a hair, only looked back at her and said

"I assume you would like your brother back alive" very evenly, very quietly, "If so, do as you're damned well told and Go To Your Room"

Wanda looked away this time, the battle of wills done. Round ten thousand to Mom. She might have cosmic, reality-altering powers, but her Mother had Mom Power, and that always won in the end. She huffed quietly and scooped Lorna up into her arms, fetched a bright smile from somewhere for the girl

"You want to try my straighteners out?" she said softly. Lorna beamed and nodded.

Magda hesitated for a long while before she picked up the telephone. Drained her glass and refilled it. Reached and picked up the little crumpled business card that she had found in her son's room. She'd heard of the place before, a long time ago. Mentioned in passing on some news broadcast, she remembered snorting a little at that phrase, 'Gifted Youngsters', wondered if it meant those kids who could draw architectural diagrams from memory. Never thought it might mean kids like her messed-up, anarchic, petty criminal son. Now that she knew better, it seemed as good a place to start as any.

The number rang for a long, long time. So long that she almost gave up, hovered with her finger on the set ready to hang up, before a faint voice had answered her. She recognised the English accent immediately, thought of the shaggy-haired man at the other end. Drew breath to speak but instead heard his voice again

"Ms Maximoff," he sounded almost relieved, "Is Erik with you?"

"No… I was hoping…" her mouth felt dry suddenly. She wet it with vodka, "I was hoping you knew where he was"

"He vanished," Charles told her, "Look, Magda – may I call you Magda?"

"How do you know my name?"

"It's complicated. Well it's not. I'm psychic, look it's really not important – Magda, do you have any idea where Erik would be? I don't have time to explain, but I –"

"My son is missing" she said. The reality of the words seemed to sink into her all over again as she spoke, hurting her somewhere deep inside. Closed her eyes, "I asked Erik to find him. God willing, he's on his way now"

There was a long pause, an intake of breath on the line

"And you were calling here because…..?"

"Because I found your card. I thought you might…. Know something…. Or that you…"

She let the question hang. Charles caught her surmise, paused a while again before considering his response.

"Did you think I might have taken Peter?" he asked softly. Heard Magda's stifled sob at the other end, softened his tone more, "I promise you, he's not with me, but if he were he would be perfectly safe. I want you to listen to me Magda; he will be alright"

"Find Erik," she said at last, "and please help him bring him home"

She rang off before Charles could get another word out. That final shot that had allowed him to walk across the tarmac at JFK had long worn off, the clutter of voices pressing into his mind again. A night of horror and sleepless anguish, all those desperate people crying out in their minds. New York really was the City That Never Slept, and Charles had heard every wakeful soul throughout the dark hours. Exhausted by dawn, glancing at the bottle of brandy on his desk longingly, forgoing it and sitting staring out into the unkempt grounds of the Mansion, hearing the lonely hearts begin to fall asleep. Digging his nails into his palms at their despair, until the telephone in his office had begun to ring. It took him a long time to get to it, unused to pushing his chair after so long out of it.

The woman's pain was so palpable, his hands had shaken so badly that he had to grip the receiver in both to keep from dropping it. She broadcast it like a subliminal signal through her every word. The serum had taken that all away. Its return was torture. Though she had never said those words, all he had heard ringing in his head was _save him, please please save him._

No wonder he had blocked them out for so long. Just feeling the pale reflection of a mother's pain was almost too much to bear. Charles squared his shoulders under the weight. Began the slow process of making his way to Hank's room to wake him. If there was any hope for that boy, or for any of them, the time to act was now.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N : Thank you as always for your patience! 13 hour shifts with two hours travel either side are kind of taking all my writing time, but I'm doing my best and even if you have to wait, you WILL get more of my work.**

18

Usually, Peter would have been glad of any distraction to draw the two nameless White Coats away from what they were doing. This time, however, he would really have rather they didn't take their full attention off him. Today was heat tolerance testing (better than cold, he had decided, but still awful). They had enclosed the treadmill in sealable plastic sheeting, set several space heaters inside. He could hardly see out of the clear plastic curtains with the condensation on the inside now, lungs starting to feel heavy and overused, muscles cramping. Kept up his steady jog, knowing that if he just did what they said it would all be over so much faster. Had not counted on both his captors being drawn away to speak to another Anonymous White Coat who had entered. Strained to the limit of his hearing to make out what they were saying over the hiss of the heaters and the thumping of blood in his ears.

"- at a stage where you can leave it?" White Coat 3 was asking. The two originals looked dubious.

"We still have some tolerances to assay" one was saying, "and the starvation challenges, of course. But –"

"You'll have to do without" the newcomer said, made a sharp, commanding gesture. "Can your subject go to the Pool? I know you're not done yet, but if you've got a good idea of its abilities then liquidate it. We need to mobilise the programme immediately"

"It's not ready" the other responded, "It's a very complex aberration, we need more time with it"

"You don't have more time" White Coat said bluntly, made to leave, "liquidate it, or give it to someone else. We need you on the programme."

There was a resounding thump as he left, and both researchers looked around to see that behind the cloudy sheeting, the treadmill was running unoccupied, and their test subject was slumped face downward close by it. One hand dragged and bumped over the mill as it continued turning, following the rest of the body limply as they had reached to turn it over. The second man tutted. It had been doing this a lot lately, collapsing long before what they suspected were its real limits. It was beginning to get on his nerves.

"What do you want to do with it then?" he asked the other, who crouched and felt for the motions of breathing, nodded when he found them. Got to his feet and sighed

"I don't think this one's for the Pool, to be honest" he said, thought, "It's not resilient enough. Perhaps we should just liquidate it. I'm sure we'll find another like it. One a bit sturdier."

"You're probably right" he agreed, bent with his colleague to heft the unconscious body between them, carry it back to its suite to await a decision, "I must admit I'm fond of this one though. It's quite sweet-natured, in its way"

"For the last time, Brian" the other huffed, settled Peter's legs under his arm to carry better, "You can't have a pet Mutant. They're not trainable. And you have a teenage daughter."

"We could have it neutered" Brian mused aloud, "Make it comfortable out in the garage. It probably won't live long anyway"

"You and your soft spot for big brown eyes" his companion shook his head, manhandled Peter onto the cot, "Just get a Labrador. They cost less to feed"

"You're probably right" Brian said, resignedly, "Let's just liquidate it."

They closed the door behind them. Did not deliver any food or water later that day, figuring it was a waste of resources when it was only going to be put to sleep anyway. A tiny, fleeting thought tugged at Brian that it would be kind to put it to death on a full stomach at least, supressed fiercely as soon as it surfaced. It didn't do for him to grow so fond of the animals. He had the same problem with those beagles back at Phillip Morris. Poor, sad-eyed little things always caught at his feelings, somehow.

Filling in the liquidation paperwork wasn't hard. Just a few rubber stamps on a few pages, A signature here and there, pop them in the internal mail and wait for a porter to come around. He had been told once at the start of his tenure with Trask Industries that the liquidated subjects were sedated to almost deadly levels and mechanically decapitated. He had also heard, not officially of course, that there were at least two subjects who had been very surprised and irritated to come around to find their heads and bodies separated, expiring shortly afterward. Hoped that the flimsy little thing they had been processing wouldn't end up like that, and would go peacefully to sleep without ever knowing the slicing blade that was waiting for it. He didn't like to see animals put through pain that was not scientifically necessary. And after all, he really did have a soft spot for big brown eyes. Spreading the file open in front of him, he thumbed through for the termination forms, humming quietly right up until the moment that an iron strong blue hand had clapped over his mouth at the same instant as an equally strong blue arm wound around his throat and jammed up against his jaw. Within minutes, he was unconscious.

Raven concealed his body under the desk, considered choking him to death as he slept and decided against it. Hog-tied him with his own trousers instead and left him to come round and start to shout uselessly against the gag. Took his form and strode into the corridor outside, the roles immediately reversed as she was sideswiped and thrown into the wall, holding up both hands to protect herself as a fist bore down on her

"Hank, no!" she hissed. Saw the perplexed look pass across his face and the fist drop limply

"Raven?" he asked, got off her and offered a hand up, "What are you –"

"Could ask the same. Don't have time" she told him, held his gaze levelly "are you here to stop me?"

"Well –"

"Yes or no, Hank. Fair warning – yes will get you throttled unconscious"

"We're here for Erik" he admitted, "Is he with you?"

"No" she answered honestly. Had not in fact seen her former lover since that morning, when they had left their separate hotels and briefly nodded to one another over newspapers and coffee in a small diner nearby, just enough of a signal that the plan for the day still stood. She would do what she did best and infiltrate the compound. Erik would follow, and in good time do what he did best. Brutally execute anybody there who had dared harm one of his kind.

"Charles is –"

"Hank, stop" she said tersely, "I won't interfere with whatever you're doing. I'm only asking for the same courtesy"

She had begun to walk away from him, swift enough that he trotted to keep up. Noticed as they walked that an unnatural hum seemed to grow louder and more intense the further they went into the facility. By the time they had reached the lower corridor with the rows upon rows of bolted doors, the hatch-wheels on the front of each were vibrating with the intensity of the magnetic force somewhere close by. Hank exchanged a glance with Raven, saw her burning golden eyes alight with righteous anger. She didn't smile as she said to him

"Don't try and stop us. I've always liked you – it'd be a shame to kill you."

Before approaching the laboratory door and pushing it open.


	19. Chapter 19

**So hey there, Readers… and my there's *ahem*, a few of you now :O**

 **I could make any number of excuses but facts is facts: Being a nurse is hard. Work is crazy hard, and crazy is hard work – literally in both cases. I'm actually a bit awestruck that so many people had added me to their Favourite/Follow lists and followed this story even though it's been on hiatus since like, April 3** **rd** **.**

 **I'm sorry about that. Please continue to enjoy, and thank you from the bottom of my brain.**

 **(which is way more accurate than 'heart' by the way) xx**

19.

Trask's large mild eyes stared placidly out of the window of the Chrysler and the road scudding by below. To look at him, swamped by the leather seat with those strange cornflower-coloured eyes, an ordinary observer could mistake his stillness for calm, his docile observation of the blacktop for daydreaming. Those who knew him knew better. The stillness was that of a snake poised to strike, focussed on nothing but the trembling mouse before it.

He was not a man who made miscalculations. Mistakes were unacceptable to him, but in this case he had made a fatal error of judgement. A slight loll forward against the belt as the car came to a halt. Relaxed unhurried steps to the door. Each step planned and each move thought out in advance, and yet the one glaring error would not strike him until the door had swung open, its electronic lock sitting dumb and dead on the frame. Not even until he had crossed the threshold and begun to stride – still confidently – toward his private office. Not, in fact, until he had become aware of a thrumming like ringing in his ears, did he realise that he had made the great mistake of thinking a mongoose was a mouse.

A motion of his hand, wordless but authoritative, and the two men who had accompanied him moved toward the growing hum. Trask bolted the office door behind them.

Had there only been the insistent whooping of alarms, the disorienting flash of emergency lights, the two would have felt comfortable, at home in their element, but there was nothing. Only rounded corridors, eerily silent, clinically white. No place for anyone or anything to hide without their line of sight being dead on it, and yet that uneasy sound was growing, now underscored by a grinding, creaking noise that seemed to come from the walls themselves.

One jerked his head, stopped still as they came toward a door marked, in serious, utilitarian letters five inches high, 'Containment'. The other met his eyes briefly before pushing open the unlocked door.

Far from them, Raven stepped cautiously through the laboratory door. Hank followed, and froze beside her, dumbstruck for a moment at the sight in front of them.

Strapped to the trolleys, scratchy paper wrinkling under their futile movements, were two unremarkable men. Unremarkable, that is, apart from their ghastly suffering. Flecks of blood peppered the froth collected at the corners of their mouths, tough leather straps cutting into their necks so hard that their terror-struck eyes bulged slightly in their sockets. Glittering above them, around them, were the entire stock of surgical implements, from bones saws to delicate picks, each hanging vibrating in the air. Between them, feet planted apart, hands outstretched, Erik met Hank's eyes and spoke only three words, but with such chilling calm that the beast obeyed immediately;

"Find the boy."

Even as he turned he felt the warm mist of blood on his back, heard Raven gasp somewhere amid the ring and clatter of metal that made Hank think suddenly of a swarm of vicious insects. Turned back into the corridor and made for the nearest hatchway door.

Raven took a breath, unaware she had been holding it. Parted her lips and tasted sharp blood. Did not move as Erik floated gently over to her. Took her chin in his hands.

"When we find him," he whispered, "We shall share. The rest of them, however, are _mine_ "

She too, obeyed him without question. Followed him to the far door, opening a white half-moon in the fine red spatterdusting on the walls. Within fifteen minutes, by Trask's elegant Rolex, the number of living humans in the building could be counted on the fingers of one hand.

By the time Hank had come to the eleventh hatchway door, a small group of frightened, confused stragglers had joined him. Not every room was occupied, but enough were. Hank paused only briefly to see if any of them needed immediate aid, before he had moved on to the next. In the 32nd, he found him. Several of the freed Mutants followed him as he bent over the cot, gentle fingers feeling for a pulse, glanced up at them,

"Go find something sweet to drink. Coke, juice, anything as long as it's full of sugar"

For an excruciatingly long moment there was no reply, only stunned faces. Hank did not pause to wonder how long they had been there, only that they were walking and this boy was not. Snapped at them

"Now!"

His snarl appeared to shake several out of their stunned daze, enough that they had stumbled away. The Doctor turned his full attention back to the boy. Couldn't believe the change in him since they had last met, less than two weeks ago. Then he had been a cheeky, devilish kid, slight and fragile-looking but apparently healthy. This boy looked like he'd been tortured for months without end, and right now, he was obviously seriously unwell. A deathly shade of pale grey, clammy and drenched in sweat, shaking and breathing in shuddery little gasps. Hank knew severe hypoglycaemia when it was laying shivering in front of him, hoped he was in time to prevent any brain damage. Peter was barely responding, seemed to be teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. Hank shook him, got a pained little moan in response, began to pull him into a sitting position. If he lost consciousness now, he may not regain it.

"Peter?" he called, shook him again, got another exhausted moan, "Stay awake, Peter. Just a little longer. I'm here to help – just stay with me"

The first of the strangers to return held out a clear plastic bottle

"Will this do?" she asked "I found it in the lab, it's liquid glucose"


	20. Chapter 20

20.

When finally the bolts had erupted from their weldings and hung limp, Trask was still seated in his chair. Legs neatly crossed, not a hair out of place, regarding the two who entered critically, but silently. A soft click as he cocked the perspex gun he held.

"No helmet?" he asked. The faintest ghost of a smile skated over his face, "good."

Erik smiled in return. A vicious, sharkish smile that could not be mistaken for anything but a manifestation of icy rage.

"No guards to save you" he whispered back, advanced a single pace toward him. The gun quavered almost imperceptibly. "Better"

This time, the smile truly materialised on Trask's lips.

"I've learned a great deal about your kind, thanks to the work of this facility" he said in a polite, impartial tone almost as if he were musing aloud, "all the monstrous forms you take, the ungodly things you do. You are a disease. One day you will be eradicated"

Raven lunged, spines bristling and rippling as she transformed into her natural form, face contorted in a snarl of fury. The gun fired, but she barely felt the impact of the little plastic projectile in her bare shoulder, hands grasping for Trask's throat.

"You're wrong!" She snarled, clawed fingers digging at his windpipe

"I'm not the only one" he rattled, met the glowing yellow eyes, "Not even the first!"

"And do you know what I did to those who came before you?"

Erik was by her side, a handful of Trask's hair held tightly in his fist, spitting his words into the man's face.

"I found them, one by one. And I killed them one by one, just as we will kill you and all of your kind who come after you. That is how I'm going to end this. One. By. One."

Trask's face had begun to blossom a sickly purple under Raven's grasping hands, eyes bloodshot against the blue. Erik placed one hand on his jaw, and with a wrench of his hair and a shove, Raven felt something break wetly in the neck she was wringing. It was almost a minute more before she had let go, and only then when Erik had gently pulled her hands away. Blood dripped from one of her fingers in fat droplets, only realising once she saw it that she had been shot. Pain blossomed from her shoulder immediately she set eyes on it, and she clutched at the hole, legs folding suddenly as she had sat down on the floor and begun to shudder.

Hank turned briefly from the ashen, increasingly limp boy. The stranger held out the glucose in one hand toward him

"Perfect" Hank told her. Took the bottle, hoped and prayed that Peter wasn't too far gone to swallow by himself. Held the floppy body upright and set the bottle to his lips. For a moment Hank thought it was too late, until Peter had taken a couple of weak little gulps, slowly began to lay less heavily against the doctor. At last raised one hand to tip the bottle further up. Internally, Hank breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't out of the woods, but at least he had a chance.

"We have to get out of here" one of the strangers told him urgently, "Can he walk?"

Hank didn't bother asking, scooped the boy up into his arms, taking the scratchy blanket with him. Peter didn't resist in the slightest, head coming to rest against Hank's shoulder and eyes still half-closed. Could not have escaped if had he wanted to, what little energy he'd managed to get back only setting off violent cramps as his muscles regained enough strength to start twitching again. He shivered against the warm fur, allowed himself to be carried like a child down what felt like endless corridors before he had finally felt safe enough to let go of his tenuous grip on consciousness.

The little pack of strangers followed, not knowing if they were fleeing to safety or to their deaths, knowing only that the huge blue creature had done them no harm and clinging to that like a life raft as they hurried behind him. Asked no questions about the strange black aircraft that sat waiting not far away, props beginning to turn as soon as the first of them had stumbled into the daylight, only climbing inside. It was not until the 'Bird had been in the air that Hank realised that nobody had spoken a word. The sounds of heavy, frightened breathing filled the passenger capsule. He swallowed hard, glanced one more time at the boy he had strapped into a seat hanging like a ragdoll against the belts, before he had stood and said quietly

"I'm a doctor. Are any of you hurt?"

The look in the seven pairs of eyes that turned to him said _yes. All of us._ And Hank moved in efficient silence to kneel in front of the closest and begin to examine him. Logan had leaned briefly around from the pilot's chair only once. Taken a long, sceptical look at the crew of dishevelled Mutants, and turned his attention back to the controls in silence as deep as that from the back, breaking it only when Hank had finally, after an hour and a half checking the strangers over, sat down beside him heavily.

"What's the damage?" Logan muttered at him. Hank sighed

"Stressed. Few minor injuries. They'll all live," he paused, glanced over his shoulder, "I don't think I'm the kind of doctor most of them need right now"

Silence for a few more minutes, before Hank asked

"It's not over isn it? We didn't fix things?"

"Not by a long shot, Doc" Logan told him, kept his eyes fixed on the controls. Hank nodded, sat for a moment, before he had got up without a word and gone to check the IV he had hooked the unconscious boy up to.


	21. Chapter 21

21.

" _Dzien dobry,_ _wszystko w porządku?"_

Magda recoiled from the frosted screen door as if it had burned her. The figure outside, broad-shouldered with a wide brimmed hat, waited patiently. At last, she took the plunge, fumbled the chain, looked up at Erik frostily.

"I think you did enough to help" she told him. He was proud of how level her voice was, "Were you followed?"

"No"

"Are you – "

"- Certain." He interrupted. She sniffed, stepped aside.

"Then come in before anyone sees you"

As soon as the door was locked and bolted, she had turned with some of the frost melted away, most likely by the tears that were standing in her eyes.

"I knew you'd bring him home" she whispered, "But thank you for making it alive"

"May I see him?" Erik asked, hopefully. Sought rather than his mother's permission, an assurance that seeing him was a good idea. Magda nodded.

"Of course.. Sure.. he's – " she smiled briefly, as if at her own foolishness, "he's on the sofa, resting. He... hasn't told me anything about. You know. But it must have been bad. I didn't want him to be all by himself downstairs. In case he needs anything, or…"

Erik understood, somehow. Understood that one floor below was too far away for Magda to let her baby go alone right now. That she needed to be able just to walk a few paces and see him there, safe and sound at home. Thanked her with a smile, and walked to quietly knock on the door of the living room and enter.

Looking at him, curled up into a blanket-swathed lump with his hair mussed by the pillow he leaned on, Erik was reminded of how very young he'd thought Peter was that first time he caught sight of him. Pushing himself up to sitting, keeping a blanket pulled around his shoulders. Only watching silently whilst Erik came and sat at the other end of the sofa. Man and boy regarded one another for a long moment, before Erik had reached and laid a hand over the teen's.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, uselessly. Could think of little else to ask.

"Been better," Peter muttered, "Still pretty whacked out. Bit jumpy. Fine"

Through his palm Erik could feel a light tremor in the delicate hand under his. Could not tell if it was cold, or nerves, or memories that made him shake, but gently curled his fingers in and stilled the fluttering movement. Peter dropped his eyes, swallowed.

"I dream about it. It's… "

Erik let the boy's sentence trail out silence behind it. Squeezed that hand softly.

"It's alright. I understand" he said simply.

"Guess you do." Peter whispered.

"But you're home now. You're safe. I know that you must have been so very…"

Erik choked on the rest of his sentence. There hadn't been words invented yet to express the anguish he knew Peter now understood.

"Scared?" the boy suggested, and to Erik's immense shock offered him a weary shrug and the ghost of a smile, "Cold, tired, hungry – lonely? In pain? Yeah. I was. But that's nothing I haven't been before. I got better then. I'll get better now"

The look on the boy's pinched, pale face was resolute. Erik saw the terror of facing the world again, once that had been done to you, the knowledge that it was a long road back to square one, but saw also a sharp, steely resolve to do just that one day. Gave him a shadowy smile back.

"You're a brave boy, Peter" he said, "Your Mother should be very proud of you"

"Pretty sure she said so in between cooking" he smiled weakly, "Seriously, you wouldn't believe how many sheets of cookies she's made since I got back."

"And hopefully, how many of them you've been eating? You could really handle getting a few dozen cookies inside you, you know" Erik chided gently. Peter flashed a real smile for a second, before his face had clouded over again

"So…." The boy said, took a deep breath, "Dad. Bet you didn't see that coming"

"It wasn't exactly on my itinerary, no." Erik admitted, "But…."

"Buuuuut…?" Peter repeated, made a 'go on' motion with both hands, "But you're not staying because really, *these* kids?"

"No.." Erik laughed, very softly, "No I'm not staying. But because… I have things to do. And when I've done them, I'll need to vanish, Peter. I don't think I'll live if I don't"

"And if you weren't top of the Most Wanted?"

"If I were not," Erik began quietly, pulled his eyes up to meet Peter's and saw how anxious he was about this. Wanted to hug him, did not yet know if he should, "If my presence here would not put you and your sisters and mother in danger. Then yes, I would stay"

"Good." Peter flashed him a quick, tight smile, "I mean, Mom wouldn't have you but hey, I'd be cool with that. And maybe one day you'll undisappear again, right?"

"Right" Erik's smile was sharp, doubtful, but his eyes were honest, "One day perhaps. In the meantime though –"

"Yeah. Yeah – go and, umm…. Vanish, man. I'll –" he shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, "I'll be here, like, probably sleeping for the next few months so, umm…"

"Will you be alright?" Erik asked. Still did not hug him, but placed both hands firmly on his arms, rubbed warmth into them, "You've been through a lot"

"I'll be okay, honestly" Peter offered him another of those weak, earnest little smiles, clasped his arms around himself, "That doctor guy – Hank - checked me out. No major harm done, he says I just need to get tons of rest and put a few pounds on, and Mom's taking good care of that angle"

"Are you sure? Perhaps it would be –"

"Dude, really. You should have seen her at dinner last night. I had five helpings. There were balance problems. I'll be fine."

Erik looked hard at the depthless eyes, radiant with an indefinable storm of emotion. His mother's eyes without a doubt, but there was some very faint ghost of himself there too – something hard perhaps in the line of his prominent cheekbones, something similar in the jaw. Peter didn't favour him much at all, really, but Erik saw strength there nonetheless that he felt he could trust. Could be proud of. Even shivering in a heap of blankets, obviously feeling sicker than he would admit, shaken up and disturbed by what had been done to him, there was still strength. He didn't hold back any longer, scooped the little body into his arms. It was like embracing a nervous bird, all twitching sinew and rapid heartbeat against him, but he yielded to the embrace immediately.

A tactile boy at the best of times, even more so when he felt so small and vulnerable, Peter didn't fight the strong arms that came around his back. Closed his eyes against the muscular chest and tried to calm his breathing. Let his father hold him for a long while, knowing that having him in his life wasn't as easy as yielding to a hug, but that for the moment it was all he could do. Wondered briefly if his life really would be any different now, and if he would ever get another warm, protective bear-hug from his father, whom he didn't know and yet somehow loved. Sighed softly as he was released, big weathered hands rearranging the blanket around his coat-hanger shoulders with attentive tenderness. _Just like a real Dad,_ Peter thought, twitched a little smile, snuggled back down onto the pillow. His eyelids felt heavy, for some reason. It was tiring, all that moving and talking and feeling – and it was making him hungry. Didn't say goodbye as Erik gently got up, padded out and closed the door quietly behind him.


End file.
